Past and Present Danger
by Jilsen
Summary: Nancy takes on her first murder case. Frank and Joe arrive to lend a hand. N&J are 23. F is 24. This story has no relation to my other stories. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys. I do not make any money from this endeavor. This story is posted strictly for readers' enjoyment.**

 **Chapter 1**

The spring wind tugged at his hat. He pulled it down and turned up the collar of his long black overcoat.

The cemetery was small. But then, the town of River Heights was small, only 50,000 citizens. Not exactly a thriving metropolis.

He wandered through the cemetery scanning the headstones. An elderly couple stared at him and he lowered his head. The woman was stooped and frail; the man as thin as a stick. What had brought them here on such a blustery day? Truthfully, the man didn't care. He wasn't a social person and preferred to distance himself from other people.

The couple's presence angered him. A hot knot of rage formed in his stomach. He'd hoped to be alone today. Today was special. He'd bought a white rose to commemorate the occasion. Distracted now, he almost missed the headstone. But there it was. He stopped in front of it and pulled the white rose from his coat pocket. His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

The sound of a car door caused him to freeze.

Another visitor. Another irritation.

He moved away from the grave, the rose clutched in his gloved hand. He spotted a stone bench and sat down. He would sit and wait, wait until everyone left. How busy could a cemetery get?

The new visitor was a young woman. Late twenties, he figured. She buttoned her coat, bowed her head into the wind, and walked through a row of headstones.

He watched her from behind dark glasses and flinched when she stopped at the same grave he'd come to visit. The very one he'd stood in front of moments ago.

The wind tossed her long hair about her shoulders as she placed a small bouquet on the ground. He thought of the rose in his hand.

The older couple were on their way to the parking lot. Leaving. Going home. Good.

Back to the young woman. He liked her shiny blonde hair with vibrant touches of red. She must be the daughter of the poor soul resting in the grave. The poor soul he'd come to visit.

Another car arrived. This one contained an older, dark-haired gentleman. He joined the blonde. Her father, the man in the overcoat assumed. He watched as father and daughter embraced. An emotional reunion for them. They quietly and reverently viewed the grave. Even from this distance, the man in the overcoat felt their sorrow and pain. The girl wiped tears from her eyes and the older man hugged her again, tighter this time.

The wind picked up and the blonde and her father soon left.

The man in the overcoat watched their cars leave the parking lot. He waited several minutes to make sure neither returned. When they did not, he finally approached the grave. He glanced around, made sure there were no other visitors, and knelt beside the headstone.

His voice was low and raspy when he spoke, "It's been twenty years. Twenty long years."

The wind ruffled the small bouquet left by the blonde.

He glanced around again. What he had to say was intended only for the person resting beneath the ground. "You were my first. My first kill."

Adrenaline coursed through his body as he remembered that day twenty years ago. He laid the white rose on the grassy mound next to the bouquet. His hand trembled slightly.

"I've come back to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of my first kill. Over the last twenty years I've killed many … many young women, just like you, all across the country. There was a five year prison sentence for attempted rape. That slowed me down, but I was happy with the five years. It beat twenty-five years . . . or life, or . . . death."

He stood and smoothed down his coat. "Well, as I was saying, I've come back to celebrate. I'm here to celebrate twenty years and complete the circle. The circle that began in this town with you."

He licked his dry lips. "I was thinking another murder in this town, twenty years later would be the perfect ending to a perfect story."

A hideous grin spread across his face. "I've already found my victim. She was here today … visiting you. I'm guessing she's your daughter." The grin grew and the corners of his eyes crinkled as his eyes narrowed. "Fate brought her to me. I got her license plate number and I know what she looks like."

The wind tugged at his hat and coat collar. "All I have to do is find out where she lives."

The petals of the rose fluttered in the wind as he walked away.

* * *

 _A/N: This story was posted six years ago. I removed it and edited it. It has no relationship to my other stories. This was my first ND/FH story and my first attempt at a murder mystery._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Three days later . . .**

Carson Drew motioned his daughter into his office and closed the door. Carson Drew had been an attorney in River Heights for over twenty years. In those years, he had handled a wide variety of cases. Some were remembered fondly, others were not.

Mr. Drew motioned Nancy into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

"What's up, dad?"

Mr. Drew sat at his desk and gazed at his daughter. She was young and strong and had her whole life ahead of her. He wished he had good news to impart today. He did not. There was no easy way to say what had to be said.

Nancy noticed her father's grime expression. "What's wrong, dad?"

Mr. Drew took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Did you watch the evening news last night?"

"No. Why?"

"A young woman was murdered. Her body was found near the river. It was Dawn Bedingfield."

Nancy gasped, an involuntarily reflex. Her hand flew to her mouth and stifled the scream that threatened to escape. "No, dad! Please, no."

Nancy and Dawn were the same age and had gone to school together. Although they had not been close friends, they had known each other since second grade. The Bedingfields had been friends, and clients, of Carson Drew for fifteen years. How could something this horrible happen to them?

"Are they . . are the police sure it's Dawn?" Nancy hoped against hope a mistake had been made.

Carson Drew lowered his head and studied his desk. A pile of legal papers and phone messages littered the glossy surface. None of them important. Not at this moment.

Carson Drew lifted his head. "It was Dawn. Bob Bedingfield just called me. He and Sue want to hire you to help find the killer. They want justice for their little girl." Carson almost broke down when he uttered the words _little girl._

That's what Bob had said. _My little girl_. A precious being who was no more. A father's pride and joy would never laugh again. Never hug his neck or kiss his cheek. She would never get married or have children. Her hopes and dreams were gone as were her father's and mother's. All because of one senseless, violent act.

Nancy had never seen her father so distraught, so shattered. The quiver of his lower lip brought tears to her eyes. With difficulty, she fought back those tears. Fought them with a vengeance and cleared her throat. She went into detective mode. It was safe there, hiding behind the sharp, analytical mind of an investigator. She had been an amateur detective for six years and had built an impressive reputation in her small town. Her father had called upon her services many times over the years. Today, he called again. Find Dawn Bedingfield's killer.

A bolt of determination galvanized Nancy. Amateur or not, she would get justice for Bob and Sue Bedingfield.

Nancy got to her feet. She stood firm and rigid. "You can tell the Bedingfields I'll do everything in my power to find the killer."

Carson Drew heard the steel in Nancy's voice. He nodded slowly. "I'll let them know."

Nancy crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her father's shoulders. "I'll find out who did this, dad. I promise." She rested her head against his. "I'm going to the police station now. I'll talk with Chief Logan."

Carson reached up and patted his lovely, twenty-three year old daughter's arm. He suddenly felt older than his forty-six years. "Nancy," he said softly, "promise me you'll be careful."

"Of course, dad."

"I mean _extra_ careful."

Nancy's midnight blue eyes met her father's dark brown ones. "I will, dad. I promise."

 **Later that afternoon. . .**

Police Chief Logan ushered Nancy through the noisy police station and into his small office. She took a seat in a vinyl chair that had seen better days. She laid her jacket and handbag on her lap.

This was not the first time Nancy and Police Chief Logan had met in his office to discuss a case. However, this was Nancy's first murder case. Chief Logan wondered if she was up to the task. He thought she looked composed in her teal colored shirt and gray slacks.

Chief Logan leaned a hip against his cluttered desk and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "This is a gawd awful case, Nancy. A real tragedy. A huge loss for the Bedingfields and the community."

Nancy nodded. "Yes, it is. I went to school with Dawn. I didn't know her well, but still, I feel the loss. As I mentioned on the phone, the Bedingfields have hired me to investigate. I admit, I'm a little out of my league. I've never worked a murder case before. Have you considered my proposal?"

"The one about working side by side with the police detectives?"

"Yes." Nancy held her breath.

"I have. And I'll be honest with you, Nancy. I welcome your help. You have most of the required credentials to be a police officer. Why you haven't taken my advice and joined the Force is beyond me."

"I .. well, I …"

He waved away her mumblings. "We can discuss that another time. Right now, the department's in need. We're spread pretty thin. I've got extra patrols posted all over town. I've made this murder case the department's number one priority. Like I told the media this morning, We will find this killer. We will bring the person responsible to justice. I have every intention of keeping my word."

Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Chief. Thank you for allowing me to be part of the investigation."

"I spoke to the detectives after you phoned. I gave them your background and history and said I fully endorsed you. They're happy to have your assistance."

"I'm anxious to meet them. What can you tell me about Dawn's murder?"

Logan pushed some papers aside on his desk. "She. Um. The body, was found by the river just off a jogging trail. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. But it appears asphyxiation may have been the actual cause of death. We're still waiting on the coroner's report."

"Anything found near the body? Cords, ropes, . . .?"

"No, we're not sure what was used to strangle her. I have Detectives Rivera and Hagan working the case. They're sharp and experienced. I'll take you to them now. They can fill you in on what they know."

Nancy rose, gathered her handbag and jacket, and followed Chief Logan out of the office. They walked down a long hallway to an open door. Logan poked his head through the doorway. "Guys, this is Nancy."

Nancy entered the moderate sized room. She saw filing cabinets on one wall and computers on another. Four desks were pushed together in the center of the room. Two detectives stepped forward to greet her.

Detective Rivera, the senior partner, offered his hand first. "Nice to meet you, Miss Drew. Chief Logan has told us all about you. Seems you have quite a history of solving cases."

"I do, but this is my first murder case." She wanted to make that clear. "I hope to help in any way possible."

"Always nice to have an extra set of eyes and ears," Rivera said. He was stocky, olive-skinned and appeared to be in his late thirties. Nancy sensed he operated under a no-nonsense attitude. She liked that.

Detective Hagan greeted her next. He was older, mid-forties, tall and trim. He shook her hand and pointed at a desk. "We've laid out what we have so far for you to look at. You can pick either of the two empty desks to use while you're here."

"Thanks." Nancy placed her jacket and handbag on the nearest chair then moved to the desk with the casefile. She picked up the file, cocked her head, and said, "Have you checked the surrounding areas for recent murders?"

Detective River grinned his approval. "We're doing that now."

Hagan took a seat at one of the computers. "I've contacted most of the surrounding communities. Haven't heard back from any of them yet."

Chief Logan said, "Well, it looks like you folks have everything under control. I'll leave you to it."

Nancy pulled up a chair and began reading through the detectives' notes.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I'll be leaving in a few days and will be gone for two weeks. No chapters will be posted while I'm out of the country. However, I'll try to post one chapter a day until I leave. When I return, I'll start posting one chapter a day again. (Hopefully.) Cheers!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning dawned bright and clear. The weather was definitely warming up. Yet he still wore the dark overcoat and black hat as he trudged to the coffee shop with a newspaper tucked under his arm. One hand was buried in his coat pocket. His fingers sensually caressed the necklace he'd taken from _her_. From around _her_ neck. A souvenir of the kill.

He slid into the same booth he'd used the past few days.

Millie, the waitress, promptly appeared with coffee pot in hand. She turned over a coffee cup and poured the hot, black liquid into it, up to the rim. "Your usual?" she asked.

 _Your usual?_

The words hit him like a blow to the head. He had become a regular. Predictable. She knew what he liked. What he ate for breakfast. Things were not supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be an enigma. The lone stranger passing through town.

He kept his head down and scanned the newspaper. "Yeah. Sure." His voice was harsh and gruff.

"Scrambled eggs and toast coming right up." Millie picked up the extra silverware and headed to the kitchen to place his order.

A scowl darkened his face. He pulled the coffee cup closer and thought over the past few days. He'd hoped to kill the Drew girl and be on his way to the next town where he would live quietly and reminisce about his glory days. But Miss Drew had proved to be elusive and his mounting need to kill had sent him searching for a victim. Any victim.

He'd parked his old beater of a car on the darkest street he could find. The neighborhood was upscale. The houses nice with tall trees and high hedges. He'd prowled the streets, the wooden club in his hand. His MO had remained the same. Hunt, kill, dispose.

His mind replayed the events of that particular night. Opportunity is a funny thing, you never knew when it would strike. He'd heard the car coming down the street and had taken cover behind a tall hedge. Miraculously, the car had turned into a driveway only yards from his hiding spot.

He'd watched a young woman slid out of the car. The cover of night and a dog barking in the distance had allowed him to creep up on her. He'd moved with ease and stealth. The woman never noticed him. Not until it was too late. Much too late. The soft snap of a twig had betrayed him at the last second. She spun round and the porch light illuminated her pretty face. In a split-second her eyes went from surprise to terror. Before she could utter a scream the club silenced her.

He then dragged her body behind the hedge and whispered the words he'd said many times before, "You belong to me now."

The rest … well, his mind didn't go there. Not here. Not in the diner. Those thoughts were reserved for private times and places. Places where he was completely alone and could indulge in the memory. Savor it. Relive it.

He sipped his coffee. For the moment his murderous need was quelled. Still, he wanted his real target – the Drew girl. She would make the perfect ending to a perfect story. His story.

Long ago he'd established a pattern of killing one or three women per town. It could never be two or more than three. He simply _could_ not broke the pattern. Perhaps, there was a bit of OCD in him.

Plus, he liked the idea that when pushed together, one and three made thirteen.

 _Unlucky thirteen._ That resonated with him.

Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the way things had turned out. Yes, this really pleased him.

The last town he'd been in, he'd only killed one woman. Therefore, River Heights was destined to have three murders. It didn't matter whether the Drew girl was second or third, just that she _was_ a victim.

He turned to the classified section of the paper and checked the month-to-month rentals. He'd already found a part-time job as a night custodian. Custodial work had served him well for twenty-some years. It was an easy job to find and his references were good. Employers said his performance was adequate and often noted he rarely missed a day, or night, of work. The only complaint anyone had was his lack of notice when he quit. He tried to give the standard two weeks' notice, but that didn't always happen.

"Here you are, scrambled eggs and toast." Millie placed a steaming plate of food in front of him. "And here's the ketchup. Can I get you anything else?"

"No, that's all." He hunched over the food like he was protecting it.

Millie refilled his coffee. "The weather's supposed to start warming up. You won't be needing that coat and hat much longer."

"Yeah," he said without enthusiasm. He hoped she would take the hint and leave.

She did.

Millie was a perceptive person and as she returned the coffee pot to its hot plate, she wondered about her new customer. Kind of an odd bird, she thought. Always wearing that heavy coat and hat. Come to think of it, she'd never gotten a good look at his face. She was going to try and do that today before he left. Yes, she wanted a good look at his face.

Why? She wasn't quite sure.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks as always for the comments. Evil cliffhangers? Not in the foreseeable future. The Hardys show up soon._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Same day, River Heights Police Station, 9:00am . . .**

Nancy had a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a notebook in the other. She entered the office she shared with Detectives Hagan and Rivera, and tossed her notebook on the desk she'd claimed the day before. She took a careful sip of her coffee, plopped into a chair, and flipped open the notebook. Her notes from the previous day covered several pages.

Yesterday, Nancy and Detective Hagan had interviewed Dawn Bedingfield's friends and family. From all accounts Dawn had been a happy, hard-working, reliable twenty-three year old college graduate. She'd recently become an assistant manager for a clothing store in the River Heights Mall and her long-time boyfriend had just proposed.

Detective Hagan entered the office. "Morning, Miss Drew. How're you today?" He removed his suit jacket and draped it over his chair.

"Frustrated," Nancy answered truthfully. "I'm reviewing my notes and honestly I don't think any of Dawn's family or friends had anything to do with her murder. Which is comforting, but it also leaves us with no real suspects."

Hagan took a seat at his desk. "I agree with you there. In my opinion, the boyfriend was truly heartbroken. Almost inconsolable. And sadly, he was the last person to see her alive."

Actually, he wasn't the last person, Nancy thought and a chill prickled down her spine.

According to Eric Park, the fiancé, he and Dawn had met at eight o'clock on the evening of the murder. They'd eaten dinner at a restaurant in the mall where Dawn worked. After dinner, they'd spent an hour window-shopping and discussing plans for their upcoming wedding. At approximately eleven pm Eric had walked Dawn to her car in the mall parking lot and kissed her tonight.

The next morning Dawn's car was found parked in the driveway of her parent's home. However, she never made it inside the house. Her purse and keys were found near the car. Sprawled on the driveway. Robbery did not appear to be the killer's motive. Money and credit cards were still in Dawn's purse. Crime scene investigators spent the day searching the car, driveway, and surrounding area. Nothing of value had come to light.

"My instincts are telling me the boyfriend is innocent, too," Nancy said. "Perhaps, someone watched Eric and Dawn while they dined and then followed Dawn home."

"It's a possibility," Hagan replied thoughtfully. "Or someone had been watching Dawn for days. She may have had a stalker."

Nancy took another sip of her coffee. "We'll know more after we interview the restaurant workers today."

Detective Hagan took out his own notebook, flipped some pages, and said, "Did your search of the databases turn up anything?"

"No, but it was a very limited, quick search. On the bright side, I discovered River Heights hasn't had a murder in fifteen years. I spoke to Chief Logan this morning. He told me casefiles more than fifteen years old haven't been entered in the database. He said, if I wanted to I could dig through the old files in the warehouse." Nancy pulled a face. Rummaging through dusty old files was not how she wished to spend an afternoon.

Hagan did not appear to relish the idea either. He picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk. "That would be pretty time consuming and goodness only knows what you'd find in there. It could amount to a huge waste of time."

"Exactly why I'm not in a hurry to search them. I think we should expand our search first, to outlying communities. Since there haven't been any other murders locally, I think that leaves us two possibilities. One; this is the killer's first murder, or it's his first murder in River Heights." Neither possibility appealed to Nancy.

"I was thinking the same thing." Hagan dropped the pencil on his desk, got up, and strode to the computers. "I'll broaden our search. I'll search for women strangled in Illinois within the last five years."

"Good idea," Nancy said. "Hopefully, something will turn up."

Detective Rivera entered the office carrying a large styro-foam cup. Thin wisps of steam wafted from the hot liquid. He smiled at Hagan and Nancy. "Good news, we may have a break in the case."

Nancy's eyes lit up.

Rogers said, "What's that, Juan?"

"A private investigator from New York is flying in today. He called me at home last night. Talked for almost an hour. He's got a case similar to ours. Young woman, murdered and strangled about six months ago. He suspects there's a connection to our case. He's bringing all his files so we can compare notes."

Hagan exchanged glances with Nancy. "It's something. When's he arrive?"

"Around one o'clock." Rivera took a sip from his mug and looked at Nancy. "How about you and me head over to the coroner's office and see if they have any new information. Afterwards, we can stop by the restaurant and interview the employees. We'll still be back here by one."

"Sounds like a plan." Nancy drained the last of her coffee and tossed the empty cup in the trash can.

While Rivera carefully pressed a lid on his styro-foam cup, Nancy grabbed her jacket and notebook. Soon the two were on their way to the coroner's office.

The coroner confirmed death by strangulation. The victim's wounds suggested she had been knocked unconscious and dragged a short distance. Given the victim's height and the angle of the head wounds, the coroner concluded the killer to be approximately six feet tall and right-handed.

A visit to the restaurant where Dawn and Eric had enjoyed their last meal, reinforced the fact the couple was happy and in love. The waiter, who had served the couple, vividly remembered the pair cuddling and happily discussing wedding plans. None of the employees remembered anyone watching the couple or following them when they left.

Nancy and Detective Rivera returned to the station around twelve-thirty with hamburgers they'd ordered from the restaurant.

Rivera dumped his food on his desk. "I'm headed for the soda machine. Want anything? Coke? Pepsi? I'm buying,"

"Bottled water please."

Detective Hagan's notes lay on his desk. Nancy moved closer and skimmed them.

A moment later, Rivera returned. "Here's your water."

Nancy took the icy bottle and twisted the cap. "Thanks. I'm looking over Detective Hagan's notes. It appears there are no murders matching ours in the state of Illinois."

Rivera plopped into his chair and unwrapped his hamburger. "That's disappointing, but not entirely surprising. Not if our case matches the one in New York. If this is the same killer, he's smart. Likes to stay on the move. That makes him harder to catch, but not impossible. He's bound to make a mistake sooner or later. And when he does, we'll be there."

Nancy hoped Rivera was right. After lunch, she took the initiative and expanded the database search. She was at the computer when Detective Hagan's voice sounded at the doorway.

"This is our command center," Hagan said half in jest. "You can put that box of yours on the desk over there."

"Thanks." The young man scanned the office and then placed the box on the only available desk.

Hagan started the introductions, "This is Detective Rivera, the lead detective on the case."

The young man extended a hand. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for inviting me to be a part of the team."

Nancy spun in her swivel chair and locked eyes with the PI from New York. Her heart skipped a beat and a rush of warmth brought a pink glow to her cheeks. A tingle of excitement raced through her body. He'd always had that effect on her and now was no different. How many years had it been since she'd seen him? Since they'd worked a case together. Four or five years?

The young man smiled broadly. "Nancy? Nancy Drew?"

"Frank Hardy. Well, how've you been?" Nancy beamed with delight.

Frank couldn't believe his eyes. The irresistible Nancy Drew sat staring at him. Looking as lovely as ever.

"I'm fine." He gave her left hand a quick glance. "How about you? I see you're still solving mysteries. Chasing down the bad guys."

"Yes." Nancy's gaze discreetly traveled up and down the tall, handsome Frank Hardy. His dark brown hair was cut short and his warm brown eyes surveyed her fondly.

Rivera picked up on the subtle sparks between Nancy and Frank and said, "Seems you two already know each other."

Frank tore his eyes away from Nancy. "Yeah. Um, yes. We worked a few cases together. Years ago. When we were teens. Nancy's the best." His admiring smile caused her blush to deepen.

"Frank may be exaggerating just a little." She stood and laid a hand on his arm. "Of course, we couldn't ask for a better detective to compare notes with. By the way, Frank's younger brother is a detective, too." She looked up into Frank's dark eyes. "Will Joe be joining us?"

"Actually, he's in Florida running down some leads we think connect to this killer."

Rivera's eyebrows rose sharply. "Are you saying this guy has killed in New York and Florida?"

"Maybe," Frank hedged. "Joe and I are still piecing together the clues. If we're right, this killer has traveled the east coast committing murders."

Nancy said, "Now, I'm more anxious than ever to hear about your case and how it relates to ours." An arched eyebrow rose mischievously as she pointed to the box on the desk. "You only have one box for us to go through?"

"Um, no." Frank grinned sheepishly. "There's two more in the rental car."

Nancy flashed a satisfied smile. She knew him so well.

The team retrieved the boxes from the car and spent the next two hours going through Frank's files. He had made multiple copies of everything. His notes. Photos. Footprints. Tire tracks. Interviews with families and friends. Hence, the three boxes. His attention to detail, no matter how small, had bore some fruit and Frank felt he had an inkling of the killer's MO.

He shared his findings with Nancy and the detectives. "What I've found through my investigation is that the killings usually happen in threes. Occasionally there's just one murder, but never two and never more than three."

Detective Rivera was clearly not happy to hear this information. "Are you telling me, there's a possibility we could have two more killings in River Heights?"

Frank sighed, "If the killer remains true to form. Another thing I've discovered is he prefers rural communities. Small towns and cities. River Heights, and my home town of Bayport, fit that description."

Nancy frowned. "How many murders do you think this killer has committed?"

"If all the unsolved murders I have attributed to this killer, do in fact belong to him, then it could be as high as ten."

"I don't like that number," Hagan said. He waved a pencil at Frank. "You're talking serial killer."

"Yes." Frank pushed out of his chair. "I gathered some minor clues from the crime scene in Bayport. I'd like to personally check the murder scene here to see if I can find any similarities. I'd like to do that today if possible."

"No problem," Rivera said and checked his watch. "However, I can't take you. My son has a soccer game this afternoon. I've missed almost every one of his game's this month. Last night, I promised him I'd be there today. I can't let him down. Not again."

"And you won't," Nancy said. "I'll take Frank. I know that neighborhood quite well and I'd like to see the crime scene, too."

Hagan stood and rubbed his back. "I would go with you two, but I have some paperwork to finish on another case. Think you two can manage on your own?"

Nancy smiled. "I'm sure we can."

"You have my cell phone number," Rivera said. "Let me know if you find anything,"

Nancy grabbed her handbag and jacket. "We will. Enjoy your son's game."

* * *

 _A/N: Please note, I have corrected a 'timing error' pointed out by an astute reader. (See my note in the reviews.) Mr. Drew and Nancy were visiting her mother's grave in the first chapter. Yes, Mrs. Drew was the killer's first victim. Sorry for the confusion._

 _Thanks for the reviews. Always happy to receive them and just as happy when someone catches a mistake._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Anita Davis picked up the garden hose and watered the spring flowers she had planted a few days ago. She waved the hose over the flower bed and watched as a rainbow developed in the spray. Oh, how pretty, she thought and waved the hose in a wider arc.

My lawn could use a good soak, too, she thought and sprayed it in earnest. She carefully worked her way over the grassy lawn until she came to the sidewalk.

Oh no! She glared at an ugly oil stain marring the sidewalk in front of her house. Now how did _that_ get there?

Anita was livid. An ugly scowl clouded her face. Slowly, she turned toward her neighbor's house. Tim and Barb had two teenage sons. One of their cars had probably done this. Everyone knew those boys were delinquents. They played their God-awful music too loud almost every weekend.

Those boys were nothing like that dear, sweet Dawn Bedingfield who'd been killed just one street over. Anita bit her lower lip. Just one street over. Well, she couldn't do anything about poor Dawn, but she could do something about those two teenage boys. She was tired of the loud music and now an oil stain! She cut off the water and stormed into the house to call the police.

# # # #

Frank and Nancy passed through the police lobby and headed for the exit. One of the desk sergeants was on the phone. His words caused Nancy to stop short.

"Yes ma'am. I agree. It's awful what happened to Dawn Bedingfield . . . Yes ma'am, I understand. . . ."

Nancy grabbed Frank's arm and jerked her head toward the desk sergeant. "He said Dawn Bedingfield."

"She's the murdered girl, right?" Frank said.

"Yes. I wonder what the phone call's about? A clue? A tip?"

"Let's find out."

Frank stepped up to the desk. Nancy stood beside him.

"Ma'am," the sergeant said, "I can't guarantee we'll have officers over there today. An oil stain is not a top priority right now. We have an ongoing murder investigation. Most of our officers are out…" The sergeant lapsed into silence when the caller interrupted.

Nancy took out her PI badge and showed it to the sergeant. Then she whispered, "What's this call have to do with the Bedingfield case?"

The sergeant cupped a hand over the receiver. "This lady lives one street over from where the murder happened. That's all." The sergeant gave a disinterested shrug.

Frank flashed his PI badge and said, "Mind if we pay the lady a visit. We'd be happy to check out the oil stain."

The sergeant was momentarily surprised, thought what the heck, and gave Frank a thumbs up.

The sergeant spoke into the receiver, "Excuse me, ma'am. Mrs. Davis, . . . ma'am, I have two detectives who can come over right now . . . Yes ma'am, they'll be there shortly. Yes ma'am, I'll tell them." He hung up the phone and blew out an exhausted sigh. "Thought she'd never stop talking."

Frank extended a hand. "Frank Hardy. Private Investigator from New York. Just got in today. Miss Drew and I are working with Detectives Rivera and Hagan on the Bedingfield case."

"Yeah, Chief Logan told everyone about that at staff call this morning. Glad to have you two onboard. This case is taking every bit of manpower we have. You're doing the department a big favor, checking out this oil stain. I'm sure it's nothing, but the lady's real upset. Something about her neighbors' kids are degenerates. Anyways, here's Mrs. Davis' address and one more thing." The sergeant opened a desk drawer and thumbed through some files.

"We were on our way to that area," Frank said as the sergeant dug through files. "We'll check out the oil stain and the Bedingfield property."

The sergeant pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Frank. "An official complaint form for the oil stain. I think Mrs. Davis will appreciate the fact we're taking her complaint seriously." The sergeant gave a weary smile.

"Always happy to lend a helping hand," Frank said. "Especially when it makes the local police department look good."

"Amen to that, brother." The sergeant smiled.

# # # #

Frank slid a large bag into the trunk of Nancy's car and then hopped into the passenger's seat. Nancy put the car in gear and pulled out of the police parking lot.

"So, Frank," she said, "Why are we happy to check out an oil stain? Not that I'm complaining mind you. Just wondering if there's more to it."

"An oil stain was found in Bayport a block and a half from where our victim was kidnapped. She was kidnapped outside her home just like Dawn Bedingfield."

"Oh." Nancy's voice dropped an octave, "Did you find anything else? Other than the oil stain?"

"Yes. Joe and I spent the day after the murder walking the streets of that neighbor. We talked to everyone on the block. And the next block. We searched shrubs, trashcans, and yards for clues. We found the oil stain just as it was getting dark. Fifteen minutes later, Joe spotted the tire prints. We took pictures that night and the next day. I even took a sample of the oil stain. Those are the only clues we have. An oil stain and some tire prints. I'm hoping one, or both, belong to the killer."

"Maybe we'll find tire prints at Mrs. Davis' house."

"That's what I'm hoping. Even better, would be if they match the prints from Bayport."

# # # #

Frank knocked on the door of Mrs. Davis' home. The door promptly swung open and Frank and Nancy were greeted by a small, fiery woman.

"Hello," Mrs. Davis said more in anger than as an actual greeting.

Frank and Nancy held up their badges and Frank did the introductions. "Hello, Mrs. Davis. I'm Frank Hardy and this is Nancy Drew. We're working with the River Heights Police Department. We're here about an oil stain."

Mrs. Davis' demeanor instantly changed. She became more cordial. "Thank goodness! I'm glad you came so quickly. This really is an outrage. The way parents let their kids run amok nowadays is deplorable. Let me show you what I'm talking about. The stain is right out there. I'll show you." Mrs. Davis pulled her door shut and led the way to the sidewalk, not far from where Nancy and Frank had parked.

"There it is!" Mrs. Davis pointed to a large brownish-black stain.

Frank bent down for a closer look. "Did you try cleaning it?"

"No. Oh, no, no, no. I left it alone. I wanted the police to see it exactly how I found it this morning." Mrs. Davis was proud of her decision and Frank was, too.

"We're going to take a sample of the stain," Frank said. He stood and headed to Nancy's car. He retrieved the large black bag from the trunk and withdrew some swabs and plastic bags.

"Well . . . oh my," Mrs. Davis muttered. She eyed the stain with more respect now. The police were taking a sample.

Nancy said, "Do you own any cars that leak, Mrs. Davis?"

"No, I don't, but my neighbors probably do." Mrs. Davis pointed to the house next door. "They have two teenage boys who are always playing loud music and driving their cars too fast. You should see them in the afternoons. Well, some afternoons. It's a wonder they haven't run over someone and that someone hasn't called the police on them."

Nancy registered this information with a large grain of salt.

Frank pulled on latex gloves, bent, and drabbed at the stain with a swab.

Nancy continued questioning Mrs. Davis. "So, you do not know how the stain actually got here."

"Well, no, not really." Mrs. Davis felt her case crumbling. However, she was determined to pin the blame on the teenagers. With force and venom, she added, "But I bet if you check their cars you'll find one of them leaks."

"We'll check their cars, if they permit us. And yours too," Nancy said.

Mrs. Davis laid a hand on her ample chest. "My car? Why, I never park on the sidewalk. I have no reason to. I have a garage." She waved a hand at the open garage as if to say, can't you see?

Frank carefully placed a cotton swab in a plastic bag and zipped it shut.

Nancy said very reasonably, "Mrs. Davis we have to rule out your car as the culprit. It's standard police procedure."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose that's true. Well, I only have the one car. You can check it now if you like."

Frank came up next to Nancy, smiled politely at Mrs. Davis, and said, "Thank you, we would like to check it now."

Mrs. Davis led them to the garage. Much like a queen leading her attendants.

Frank and Nancy checked Mrs. Davis' car and the neighbors' cars. None had a leak.

Frank and Nancy gathered on the sidewalk near the oil stain. "Let's look for tire tracks," Frank said.

He and Nancy examined the sidewalk surrounding the stain, but saw nothing. They worked their way apart, walking away from the stain. Frank went right and Nancy went left.

After a few minutes, Nancy called out, "Frank, I found something." She pointed to the curb next to her car. The car's shadow obscured the faint marks.

Frank crouched next to Nancy. "Good work, Nan. This may be the break we need. I'll get my kit, we're going to lift the prints."

"I'll move my car," Nancy said. "That'll give us plenty of room to work."

# # # #

Nancy and Frank assembled the items they needed on Mrs. Davis' lawn. Mrs. Davis watched from her living room window. She felt a bit giddy. A little overwhelmed. This little oil stain had made quite an impression. Just look at those detectives work. Mrs. Davis was delighted by their thoroughness.

Frank and Nancy knelt, side-by-side, on the sidewalk. They were not examining the oil stain as Mrs. Davis thought, but rather the tire prints. In total, the prints measured four inches long by two inches wide.

"I think it's the inside edge of a tire," Nancy said and eyed Frank peripherally. "What do you think?"

"I agree with you. Ready to lift them?"

"Yes."

Frank took a piece of clear tape and carefully laid it over the tire marks. Nancy placed a sheet of white paper on a clipboard and laid it on the sidewalk.

Frank slowly peeled the tape off the sidewalk and placed it on the white paper. Nancy held the clipboard in place. Made sure it didn't move. Faint tread marks became vivid against the white background.

"Not bad," Frank said. "I'd say the tire that made this impression is worn-out."

Nancy leaned closer and her shoulder touched Frank's. "Yeah. There's hardly any tread left."

"Well, what have you found out?"

Mrs. Davis' appearance startled Nancy and Frank.

Nancy got to her feet first. "We've collected quite a bit of evidence Mrs. Davis. However, none of it points to your neighbors. We checked all three of their cars and not one has a leak. We will continue investigating."

Mrs. Davis' face dropped. She had been so positive the boys' car would be found responsible.

Frank handed Mrs. Davis a sheet of paper. "We also have a complaint form for you to sign."

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry, I was a little late in posting today. Had to finish packing. Just a reminder, no more chapters until I return from my trip. That'll be around the 14th of July. Enjoy!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Nancy and Frank were headed back to the Police Station. Nancy was behind the wheel. They'd shared happy glances and smiles on the way to the Bedingfield property. Now the mood was different, somber and thoughtful.

"Three and a half minutes," Frank said. "That's all it takes to walk from the oil stain in front of Mrs. Davis' house to the Bedingfield's driveway."

Nancy inwardly cringed. Three short minutes.

"The killer parked in front of Mrs. Davis' house and stalked the neighborhood," Frank said. "Purely by chance, he saw Dawn Bedingfield come home from her dinner date. She was alone. It was the perfect opportunity for the killer. He knocked her out and most likely stashed her body in the hedge next to the driveway. Then got his car, drove it back to Dawn, and dragged her inside. In less than ten minutes, he was gone."

"And so was Dawn," Nancy said. Goosebumps formed on her arms. In less than ten minutes a person's life could be irrevocably changed. What a terrifying thought. Ten minutes and a life was lost.

# # # #

At the Police Station, Frank logged the photos and prints from Mrs. Davis' home into police evidence and added them to the case file. Nancy phoned Detective Rivera and informed him of the oil stain and tire prints.

"Frank's logging the photos and prints as we speak," Nancy said. "Tomorrow he'll take a closer look to see if the prints from Bayport match the ones here, in front of Mrs. Davis' house. It's a longshot, but it's something."

"I consider it progress," Rivera said. "I'll have Hagen check tire brands tomorrow morning. Maybe we can narrow these prints down to a specific make and model of car or cars."

"Maybe," Nancy sighed. "Hey, how was your son's game?"

"His team won." Nancy felt the smile in Rivera's voice.

"Great. Tell him congratulations from me."

"Will do. Good job today. See you and Frank in the morning."

Nancy ended the call and immediately phoned her father and Hannah. Hannah Gruen was the Drew's longtime housekeeper. Hannah had joined the family when Nancy's mother died. Nancy had only been three years old at the time and Hannah became something of a surrogate mother. Over the years, the women had grown to love and cherish each other.

Mr. Drew and Hannah were pleasantly surprised to learn Frank Hardy was in town and assisting with the Bedingfield case. Mr. Drew, and Hannah, insisted Frank have dinner at the Drew home. Mr. Drew also insisted, Frank be a guest of the Drew's until the case was solved.

"It's the least I can do," Mr. Drew had said. "His father and I go back a long ways."

Nancy ended the call and turned towards Frank.

Frank glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. I need to find a hotel and a place to eat. Got any suggestions?"

"Yes." Nancy smiled. "You're having dinner at my house. I just got off the phone with Dad and Hannah. They insist. And you're welcome to stay, too." Before Frank could protest, Nancy added, "They won't have it any other way. Apparently, my father and yours 'go back a long ways.'"

A charming half-grin lit Frank's face. "I rarely turn down a free meal. Let alone a home cooked one."

An hour and a half later, Nancy, Frank, Mr. Drew, and Hannah were seated round the cozy breakfast nook in the Drew's kitchen enjoying Hannah's homemade vegetable soup and hearty grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.

"I'm sorry I didn't have something a little more … um, special prepared," said Hannah and gave Frank a motherly smile.

"This is delicious, Mrs. Gruen. I don't need any special treatment and I don't want to impose on the Drew household." Frank cast a worried glance at Carson Drew.

"It's no imposition," Mr. Drew said. "We're happy to have you and you're welcome to stay for the duration of the investigation."

Hannah shifted in her seat and said, "My only concern is that you and Nancy find this killer soon."

Mr. Drew patted his mouth with his napkin. "I have no doubt they will. It sounds like they made good progress today, not to mention all the information Frank has already gathered. I'd say this case is in good hands."

Nancy and Frank had shared their discovery of the oil stain and its connection to the Bayport murder with Mr. Drew and Hannah.

"Well, I do have to admit, I feel much safer having _two_ men in the house," Hannah said and everyone chuckled.

Nancy playfully added, "And Frank carries a gun."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Frank quickly said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Gruen. It's in the rental car."

"However did you get that on the plane?" Hannah's eyes widened.

Frank blushed slightly. "It helps when you work for your dad and he's a retired New York police detective _and_ a famous private investigator. Let's just say, I carry some very special paperwork."

Mr. Drew patted Hannah's hand. "See there? Remember, Frank is well-trained in weapons, just like Nancy. We're in good hands."

"Yes. Of course," Hannah said a bit stiffly. "I just hope he never actually has to use his gun."

"No one ever wants to use their weapon," Nancy said. "But when you need it, it's very nice to have." She beamed at Hannah.

Hannah was not thoroughly convinced. Guns always reminded her of how dangerous Nancy's work could be. Hannah preferred not to be reminded of this fact tonight. She cleared her throat and pushed back her chair. "That's enough talk of guns. I hope everyone has saved room for dessert. I made a peach pie yesterday and there's plenty left."

# # # #

In an office building in downtown River Heights, a lone night custodian plunged a mop into a bucket of dirty, gray water and swished it around. One last office to clean and then he could be on his way to the Drew's house.

As he plopped the mop on the tile floor and pushed, a devious grin spread across his face. He'd spent the day at the public library and chuckled in amazement at how much a person could learn there. Newspapers, phonebooks, and computers all in one building and accessible to anyone. Best of all, you didn't even have to sign up for a library card to use them.

A search of the internet had led him to Carson Drew, Attorney at Law. _Well, well, well. A big shot attorney._ With a smirk, he'd jotted down the office address. So nice of the library to provide pencils and scrap paper.

A further search of the internet revealed Nancy Drew, daughter of Carson Drew. There were several articles about the River Heights' teen that helped local police solve crimes. The articles included photos of Miss Drew receiving various awards.

 _Yep, that was the girl he'd seen at the cemetery. Just a little younger._

Now, he just needed to find out where the Drews lived. Carson Drew's home address and phone number were not listed in the current phonebook. But the very helpful librarian had politely directed him to a storeroom filled with old phonebooks and newspapers. He'd dug through the shelves of books searching for the oldest and finally found it. He pulled the twelve year-old phonebook off the shelf and with trembling hands had turned the dry, yellowing pages. The A section, the Bs, the Cs, and finally the Ds. His index finger had moved down the columns of names . . . Downs . . Drake . . Dray . . Dresser . . Drew. Carson Drew.

And a home address.

He'd jotted down the address and then searched the remaining books. The Drew's were listed up until five years ago when they apparently decided to be unlisted or switched to cell phones. Whatever the case, the address had remained the same. It would only take a few days of surveillance to know for sure if the Drews indeed still lived there.

That afternoon he had driven past the address before going to work. The stately two-story home with a brick façade and white clapboard siding was located in one of River Heights' nicer neighborhoods. The home appeared to be well-maintained. However, the shrubs and bushes along the drive and in front of the house were a bit overgrown.

 _Good places to hide,_ he had thought. He'd driven slowly and made mental notes, but he couldn't linger, not in this neighborhood. His car stood out in _this_ neighborhood. Someone might remember seeing it.

 _Best to get to work. Always a good idea to show up early on the first day._

Finally, he finished the last office and plunged the mop into the dirty water. He dumped out the filthy water and wheeled the bucket and mop to the supply closet. He shoved everything inside, tossed a few cleaning supplies on the shelves, and shut the door. He locked the closet and office door and dashed to his car. Soon he was on his way to the Drew's house.

He drove through traffic lights and then along dark streets. As he drew closer to his prey an incessant urge pulsed in his gut. An intense desire caused his heart to hammer. He had to have someone. He wanted to own them . . . to be the master of their fate.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm back. Had a wonderful trip, but I'm still a little tired. Two weeks of living out of a suitcase will do that to you. Thanks, as always, for the reviews. Hopefully, everyone remembers where this story left off. And Happy Birthday to Lexi!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Love hearing that people like the story and the writing style. And I should mention that this story is kinda based on the "Supermysteries" novels._

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

A pleasant evening was spent in the Drew's kitchen. Mr. Drew regaled the group with stories of the few cases he and Fenton Hardy, Frank's father, had worked together years ago. In their late teens, Frank and Nancy had also worked together and they shared highlights of their cases. Hannah served the peach pie á la mode with tea and coffee. Empty plates and cups attested to the satisfying treat.

Frank gazed at the three people sitting round the table with him. The love and affection they felt for each other was obvious. To be honest, Frank's attention was mainly focused on Nancy. Silently, he studied her face. Her eyes. Her hair. Her body movements. He found himself wanting to hug her, to crush her to him, and smooth her hair. All rather romantic notions. He'd had those same feelings long ago on their last case together. There had been an undeniable connection between them. He'd felt it. He was sure Nancy had felt it, too though neither said anything. They'd both had partners at the time. Partners they loved and cared about. What Nancy and Frank had felt in Egypt was infatuation. Thrust into the roles of husband and wife for a case and isolated in a country far from home ... well, feelings were bound to develop. At least that was the way Frank had rationalized it.

Then what about the kiss? The almost kiss, he reminded himself. It was their last night in Egypt and they were on the balcony. The sun was setting. The sky a blaze of color and light. The perfect scene. Very romantic. He'd gently pulled her to him. A spontaneous gesture. She'd stepped into his embrace and looked up into his eyes. Warmth and trust shone in her tender smile. He'd bent his head and prepared to kiss her. The movement so familiar. So simple.

And then he'd felt her stiffen. The spell was broken. They'd jumped apart as though shocked. Shocked by what? By what they'd almost done? Almost kissed?

The scrap of a chair brought Frank back to the present.

Mr. Drew stood and said, "I've had a wonderful time and I hate to cut the evening short, but there's some correspondence in my study I have to look at tonight. If everyone will excuse me, I'll say my good-nights now."

Nancy rose and gave her father a hug. "Good-night, dad. And thanks for insisting Frank stay here."

Frank stood. "Yes, thanks again for letting me stay."

"It's really _no_ imposition," Mr. Drew stressed. "It's the least I can do for an old friend."

Hannah reached for the empty coffee cups. "I'll clean up and be off to bed myself."

Frank held up a hand. "Please, let me clean up the kitchen, Mrs. Gruen. It's the least I can do after that delicious dinner and pie."

Hannah stifled a yawn. "Very well then. You won't have to twist my arm tonight. I'm tired and a new mystery novel I bought is calling my name. Maybe I can get a chapter or two in before I fall asleep."

Nancy laid a comforting hand on Hannah's back. "Head off to your book, Hannah. I'll help Frank clean-up."

Hannah gave Nancy a quick hug and then Frank. "Thank you both. I'll see you in the morning. Good-night, dears."

Nancy and Frank found themselves alone in the kitchen. Nancy turned to Frank and said, "Why don't you give Joe a call. See if he has anything to report from Florida. I can finish cleaning-up." She picked up some coffee cups.

Frank took the cups out of Nancy's hands. "Hey, that wasn't the deal. I'm supposed to clean-up."

Nancy took the cups back. "Actually, I said I'd help you."

"Yes, but I never agreed to that."

"Agreed or not, I'm helping."

Frank smiled and reached for the cups. Before he could get them, Nancy spun and held them close to her chest. The mood was playful and Frank's goal was simple. Get the cups. Nancy was turned away from him and glanced at him over her shoulder. A teasing smile graced her lips. He put his arms around her, on either side, and reached for the cups.

Suddenly, without planning it, he had Nancy in his arms. His chest was pressed against her back and his head was nestled close to hers. He gently blew a few strands of her hair aside and whispered in her ear, "I'll take the cups now, Miss Drew."

"No." She flashed him a determined smile. "I don't give up easily and I have an ulterior motive, Mr. Hardy."

Frank was mildly aroused. "An ulterior motive? What would that be?"

"I want you to call Joe. I'd like to know what he's found out in Florida."

Not the motive Frank had hoped for. "Is that the _only_ motive?"

His voice was thick and suggestive. His warm breath caressed Nancy's neck and a tremor of excitement shuddered down her spine. They were pressed together. His chest to her back. His hands had found hers and were ready to pry the coffee cups loose.

"Why Frank Hardy, what other motive would I have?" Nancy's voice was soft and demure.

"I don't know, Miss Drew. But a few ideas do come to mind."

Nancy turned her head slightly and peered at Frank from beneath dark lashes. "Care to share those thoughts?"

Frank felt his heart flutter. Nancy's tone was tempting and alluring. He wanted to kiss her cheek, her neck, her lips. But this wasn't the time nor the place.

Frank took a deep breath and released his hold on her. "Not right now." He exhaled heavily. "For now, you win the battle of the cups. But this fight's not over," he warned with a wag of an index finger. "In order to keep the peace, I'll make the call."

A warm smile lit his face. "I have to admit fighting over the cups was fun."

Nancy returned his smile with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I like to keep my guests happy. We can fight over cups anytime you like."

Frank's smile grew and Nancy saw some other emotion hidden there. Desire? Passion?

"You promise?" he asked.

"I promise." Nancy slipped the cups into the dishwasher. Her smile had grown, too.

# # # #

Frank headed to the living room while Nancy cleaned the kitchen. He took a seat on the sofa and turned on the TV. Maybe he could catch the ten o'clock news. He took out his cell phone and dialed his brother.

Joe picked up on the first ring. "About time. Where the hell've you been? Whatcha been doing?"

"Nice to hear your voice, too."

Joe ran a hand through his blond hair and paced his hotel room. "Okay. Sorry. Going a little stir-crazy in this flea-bitten hotel room waiting for you to call. So spill, how's things in River Heights? Any leads?"

"Maybe. Remember Nancy? Nancy Drew?"

Joe ran a hand down the side of his face. He needed to shave, but didn't care. The stubble gave him a harder, more mature look. Something he liked when he was working a case. "Nancy. Um, let's see. Blonde hair. Bronze highlights. Dark blue eyes. The color of cobalt, if I remember correctly. Oh, and great legs. Stellar legs. How'd I do?"

"You get an A plus."

"Great. What's she got to do with the case?"

"She's working it, too."

"Damn," Joe said.

"What?"

"She lives in River Heights. You're in River Heights. I should've thought of that. Should've put two and two together."

"You're on a roll tonight, little brother. Or is it caffeine?"

"It's all this sitting around defunct hotel rooms. It gives my brain too much time to think."

"Thinking's not a bad thing," Frank chided.

"Yeah, whatever. Have you run into her yet?"

"Who?"

"Nancy. Geez, Frank. Keep up with the conversation."

"Sorry. You segued too fast for me."

"You know what? That was a stupid question. I shoulda just said, how's Nancy? Right? Tell me I'm right."

Frank smiled in spite of himself. "You really are on top of your game tonight. I'm at the Drew's house sitting on the sofa watching the evening news. They've invited me to stay at their house until the case is solved."

Joe rolled his eyes and plopped on the edge of the hotel bed. "You know, I could kill you right now. Some guys have all the luck."

"Hey, I'm working hard here. Nancy and I checked out the crime scene today. She was already working with two police detectives assigned to the case."

"Great. Any new leads?"

"We found an oil stain not far from where the kidnapping took place. Just like in Bayport. Nancy and I gathered a sample and then we found a partial tire print. We lifted that, too. Tomorrow I'll compare it to the one from Bayport. Things are looking good here. How's things in Florida?"

Joe cleared his throat dramatically. "Ahem. First, I would like to note that I spent the day partnered with a crusty old Florida detective who reeked of cigars. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, I accomplished a lot, too."

"Do tell." Frank rested his head on the back of the couch. This had all the earmarks of a long story.

"I reviewed the files of all three Florida victims. The first woman was found on the beach. Unfortunately, no evidence was recovered. No DNA. No prints. No fibers. No nothing. Nada. Zippo. The second victim was found in a picnic area. She was discovered by an elderly couple out for a stroll. They unwittingly walked all over the crime scene and pretty much destroyed any footprints or potential clues the killer left behind. The police did find some partial prints and ran them through AFIS. No matches yet. The local police are making copies of the prints and casefiles for me. Those should be ready tomorrow morning. Copies of everything are also being faxed to our Bayport office. Dad says he'll phone me when everything arrives."

"Sounds good," Frank said.

Joe continued, "The third case is a little different. The victim was attacked in a bar parking lot and there was a witness."

"Really? A witness?" Frank sat up.

"Yeah, but here's the interesting part. The police have discounted her statement."

"What? Why?"

"She's a well-known drunk and prostitute. She was drunk at the time she claims to have witnessed the attack and she didn't come forward with any information until _after_ a reward was offered. The local police think she's making up a story just to get the reward money."

"Still, I'd like to know what she saw and had to say," Frank said.

"Me too, that's why I phoned her today. She's agreed to meet me tomorrow."

"Great. I can't wait to hear what she says. This could be the break we've been waiting for."

"Could be." Joe let out a loud yawn. "Sorry. Guess I'm a little tired. I have an early wake up call. Have to meet Ole Crusty bright and early at the station. What's that Aunt Trudy always says? No rest for the weary?"

"And the wicked don't need any," Frank finished the old saying.

The brothers said good-night and Frank ended the call. Nancy entered the room and sat beside him on the sofa.

"All finished in the kitchen?" he asked.

"All finished." Nancy pointed at Frank's cell phone. "What'd Joe have to say?"

Frank told her everything Joe had said. They discussed a few minor details and proposed a few theories about the killer. Then they watched ten o'clock news. Dawn Bedingfield's murder had slipped from the headlines. With no new leads, or a suspect, there wasn't much to report.

When the news ended, Frank stood and stretched. His back was tight and he was tired, dog tired. "I'm ready to hit the sack," he said. "First though, I have to get my suitcase and laptop out of the rental car."

"I'll turn the outside light on for you." Nancy moved to the front door and flipped a switch. "I'll make sure everything's ready in the guest room while you're getting your things."

"Thanks."

Frank opened the front door and stepped out into the night. The air was calm and chilly. Frank shivered slightly as he went down the porch steps. He walked along the path to the driveway. The path was not as well lit as Frank expected. He surveyed the two floodlights above the garage door. One light was angled toward the porch and shone brightly. It provided enough light for Frank to make his way down the path. The other light faced the driveway and Frank realized it was burned out. It left a large portion of the driveway in gloom and darkness. Frank would inform Mr. Drew of this in the morning.

Frank held the car-key remote in his hand. He had backed the car into the driveway earlier and therefore had easy access to the trunk. The dim lighting though, made it difficult to find the trunk's lock. It took several attempts before the key slid into the grove and the trunk popped open.

Frank bent and reached for his suitcase. The slight crunch of leaves caused him to stop in mid-reach. He stained an ear and listened. All Frank's instincts were instantly alert. Honed razor sharp from years of detective work. He was sure of what he'd heard. The sound dry leaves made when someone stepped on them.

Frank's heart raced. Out of the corner of his eye, he scanned the yard. Scanned beyond the driveway. A shiver of uncertainty rippled his nerve endings. He couldn't see anything in the inky darkness. A large shrub, in need of pruning, obstructed his view.

Probably an animal, Frank thought. _Relax. Get the suitcase and laptop_.

Frank grabbed the suitcase, lifted it out of the trunk, and placed it on the pavement next to the car. Still on guard, he scanned peripherally as he reached for the laptop. Movement again. Movement in the overgrown shrub. Was someone hiding behind that shrub?

Frank trained his eyes on the ground around the shrub. Studied the leaves and twigs cluttered there. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. A shoe. He'd spotted a shoe. No doubt now. Someone was hidden behind the shrub.

Frank let go of the laptop and slowly moved his hand to the revolver lying in the trunk. His fingers curled around the gun and his index finger slid into the trigger notch. Gradually, he brought the revolver up. He stepped behind the car and went into a crouch. The gun rested on the car as Frank peered over the open trunk.

He peered intently at the shrub. Scrutinized every inch from top to bottom.

Frank's eyes had adjusted to the dark. He saw the barest outline. A human outline. Someone was there … behind the shrub.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Behind the overgrown shrub a bare hand caressed a silver necklace. Morbid fantasies danced in a sick mind. His breath came fast and uneasy in the chilly night. He surveyed the house. Dim lights shone in some of the windows.

Was she in there?

His right hand clutched a wooden club. He had named it _the Silencer_ , a name justly deserved, earned on many an occasion.

The porch light snapped on and the front door opened. Voices wafted into the night. A tall, dark haired man exited the house. This wasn't the man the killer had seen at the cemetery. This man was too young. A boyfriend perhaps?

The young man headed for the car in the driveway, hopefully to leave.

No such luck. He took a suitcase out of the car. This was not good. Anger overwhelmed the killer and he stomped the ground. Instantly, he regretted it. The noise. The young man had heard the noise and turned to look. He stared at the shrub. Seemed to trace every part of it with his eyes.

 _Remain calm, the killer told himself. He'll think it's an animal._ _See, h_ _e's reaching in the trunk again._

The killer relaxed a little. Took a shallow breath and exhaled. His hot breath fluttered the shrub's leaves. The necklace had worked its way to the tips of his fingers. It fell from his hand and landed on the damp ground. He bent to pick it up, but checked the man at the car first.

Fear registered in the killer's chest. The man at the car had a gun _._ A sneer hardened the killer's face and pulled down the corners of his mouth.

The gun made no difference. Surprise would work in his favor as it always did. He tightened his grip on the club and tensed for an attack. Raw rage heightened the adrenaline flowing through his body.

 _Ha! Coward! He's hiding behind the car._

"I'm with the River Heights Police Department," Frank said from behind the car. His revolver was aimed at the shrub. "Come out with your hands up."

 _I don't think so_ , the killer thought and gave a silent laugh. _Come and get me._

The front door opened and the girl appeared. "Frank? Everything okay?"

"Get back in the house, Nan!"

Nan. Short for Nancy. Nancy Drew. He _was_ at the right house.

Nancy stepped back inside and peered around the door.

"Call the police," Frank shouted. His eyes never left the shrub. "There's a prowler. He's hidden in that large shrub." Frank jerked his chin toward the plant.

Nancy disappeared inside.

 _Well now, that wasn't nice. Why'd they have to go and get the police involved?_

He'd have to make a break for it. Certainly couldn't be here when the police arrived.

A group of bushes near the sidewalk drew his attention. Get to them and he could work his way down the street. He would weave in and out of bushes and shadows.

Frank said, "I know you're there and you know the police are on the way. I suggest you come out now with your hands up."

Frank's tone was more an order than a suggestion. The killer was not in the mood for suggestions. His plan was set. Get to the bushes. He hunched his back and bolted. Darted behind the bushes and gave a quick glance back. He saw the young man by the car, down on one knee, the revolver in a two-handed grip.

Frank scanned the bushes. He knew the assailant was there, behind those bushes, but that area was especially dark thanks to the burned out garage light.

The killer peered down the street contemplating his escape. The neighborhood was older. Overgrown shrubs and bushes edged the sidewalks and dotted yards. Tall trees with thick trunks lined the street. Their large branches arched over the sidewalk and blocked the glow of streetlamps.

The front door opened and the girl reappeared. "The police are on their way," she called out.

 _That settled it. Time to go._ The killer took off down the sidewalk. He kept to the darkest areas darting in and out of vegetation. He ran a good distance, saw a clump of bushes in a particularly dark yard, and dove behind them. Panting, he looked back. The guy with the gun was crouched near the bushes he'd vacated at the Drew's house. The guy with the gun methodically scanned the street, sidewalk, plants, and darkness.

 _Good, he doesn't know where I am._ The killer drew in a shaky breath. The cold air stung his dry throat. His lungs felt like they would burst and his heart hammered in his chest. The killer searched the street, looked for another hiding spot. He couldn't stay here. His car was parked one street away. It represented safety and he was desperate to get to it.

The fickle whim of Fate turned in the killer's favor. A car came down the street. Its headlights blinded the guy with the gun. The killer seized the opportunity and took off. Down the street he ran, his feet pounding the pavement. The car's engine masked the sound.

The killer never stopped running. Fear of capture spurred him on. He darted in and out of shrubs and bushes. Once or twice, he glanced back. He pushed himself hard. He had not run in a long time. Not like this. His thighs burned and his lungs begged for mercy. But he kept going.

Finally, there it was. The car. His car.

He yanked the door open, threw the club on the passenger's seat, and hopped in. His hands shook so hard it was difficult to shove the key into the ignition. At last, he got the key in and the engine rumbled to life. He was safe.

He turned the wheel and drove away. He drove slowly. Didn't want to bring any undue attention to himself.

Moments later, he left the neighborhood, pulled onto a main street, and headed into town. He kept an eye out. Watched for cars that might be following him. He didn't see any.

His forehead was damp and he wiped it with the back of his hand. His heart still pounded like a brass drum. That had been close, way too close. It wasn't like him to make mistakes, to be so careless. His obsession with the Drew girl had gotten the better of him. It had clouded his judgment. He wouldn't let that happen again.

# # # #

Frank cursed under his breath. If only he hadn't been blinded by the car coming down the street. His night vision had been ruined. Still, he'd pursued the prowler. However, nothing came of it. The prowler had made good his escape.

Disheartened, Frank returned to the Drew's house. Nancy waited on the driveway. She wore a light jacket and held two flashlight. "Everything okay?"

"He got away." Frank's tone was angry and disheartened. He slipped his revolver into the waistband at the small of his back.

Nancy handed him one of the flashlights. "The police are on their way."

"Great. They're too late." Frank regretted his angry tone and was glad Nancy took no notice of it.

She turned on her flashlight and played the beam along the driveway. "Where'd you spot the prowler?"

Frank heaved out a heavy sigh. "By that shrub." He pointed at the guilty party.

Nancy swept her beam over the huge plant. "Let's look around before the police get here. Maybe we'll find something."

Frank shrugged. "Sure. Why not."

Frank joined the beam of his flashlight with Nancy's.

"The ground's damp," Nancy said. "There might be footprints."

The possibility of footprints brightened Frank's mood.

Nancy moved to the shrub and walked around it, careful of where she stepped. Something silver glinted in the beam of her flashlight and she bent for a closer look.

"I think it's a necklace," she said.

Frank came up beside her. "You're right. It is. Nice work."

"The prowler must've dropped it." The excitement in Nancy's voice made Frank smile.

"We should leave it for the police," he said. Nancy nodded agreement.

They cast their beams over the ground and searched for more clues. Soon, they were rewarded.

"A footprint," Nancy said.

Before Frank could response a patrol car pulled up at the curb and two officers exited. Nancy and Frank met them at the end of the driveway. One of the officers knew Nancy and greeted her cordially. She had assisted on a case of his years ago.

Nancy explained that she and Frank were currently assisting Detectives Rivera and Hagan on the Dawn Bedingfield murder case. Frank told the officers about the prowler and showed them the evidence he and Nancy had discovered under the shrub.

A brief discussion followed. A phone call to Detective Rivera and Chief Logan followed that. It was decided that Nancy and Frank would collect the evidence (necklace and a cast of the footprint) while the two officers searched for the prowler. Chief Logan issued an All-Points Bulletin for the prowler. The officers returned to their patrol car and sped away in the direction Frank indicated the prowler had gone.

The night had grown chilly and Frank shivered. "I'll get my collection kit out of the car and my jacket." He handed Nancy his flashlight and headed to the rental car.

Mr. Drew appeared on the porch. He pulled the collar of his jacket up and made his way to Nancy. "What's going on? Why were the police here?"

"Oh dad, I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. Frank spotted a prowler when he came out to get his suitcase. The prowler was hidden behind that big shrub." Nancy pointed to the offending shrubbery.

Frank had his jacket on and his collection kit in hand. He joined Mr. Drew and Nancy.

"It's a good hiding place thanks to the burned out light," Frank said and pointed at the lights over the garage. "The one on the left is burned out.

"I didn't know," Mr. Drew said. "I'll have it fixed first thing tomorrow."

"The police are searching for the prowler now," Nancy said. "Frank and I are tasked with collecting evidence. We found footprints and a necklace under the shrub." She motioned her father closer to the shrub and shined her light beneath it.

Mr. Drew approached carefully and eyed the silver object. "It appears to be a woman's necklace."

"I had the same thought," Nancy said.

Mr. Drew stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "That's quite frightening."

Nancy turned questioning eyes on her father. "Why?"

"Don't you see?" Mr. Drew said. "This prowler could be the same person who murdered Dawn Bedingfield. He … he might have followed you, Nancy."

Nancy stared at father. "Are you saying he was here, waiting to attack me?"

A worried frown creased Mr. Drew's brow. "It's a possibility. A possibility I want you to consider."

Nancy nodded numbly. She was startled by this new possibility. The possibility a killer could be after her specifically. Why though, she thought. Why would he, if indeed this was the killer, be after her? Had he targeted specific individuals in the past? Or had he always picked victims randomly? This part of the killer's MO was not clearly defined.

Frank's voice broke into Nancy's thoughts, "I'll make a cast the footprint. I can compare it to the partial footprint found in Florida when Joe sends me the file."

"The necklace," Nancy said coming out of her reverie, "Mr. and Mrs. Bedingfield didn't mention a missing necklace."

"Her fiancé might've given it to her," Frank said. "We'll have to check with all of them tomorrow: Mr. and Mrs. Bedingfield and Eric Park. Maybe one of them can identify it."

"You're right." Nancy was still numb. "Of course, the necklace could belong to another victim. It doesn't have to be Dawn's." This thought was as chilling as the possibility the killer might be after her.

Mr. Drew winced and opened his mouth to speak. He did not get the chance. The front door opened and Hannah stuck her head out.

"What's everyone doing outside at this hour of the night?" She clutched a blanket she'd thrown over her shoulders. "I got up for a glass of water and discovered all the lights on, but no one home. What's going on?"

"I'll be right there," Mr. Drew called to Hannah. To Nancy and Frank, he whispered, "Collect your evidence. I'll fill Hannah in on what's happened. I'll try not to alarm her, if that's possible." He gave a weary shake of his head and strode to the porch. On the top step, he called back, "I'll have Hannah make some hot chocolate. I think we all could use the warmth."

Nancy and Frank got to work. The temperature had dropped several degrees and their breath plumed in front of their faces. Nancy pulled on latex gloves and bagged and labeled the necklace. Next, she held the flashlights while Frank photographed the footprint. Once the photos were complete, Frank took quick set cement from his kit and mixed it with water. When the mixture was ready, he poured it into the footprint and watched as it slowly filled the impression.

"That takes thirty minutes to set up, doesn't it?" Nancy said.

"Yup." Frank gave a small smile. "You think that hot chocolate's ready?"

Nancy smiled back. "It might be."

They removed their gloves, put away most of the equipment, and left what would be needed for the footprint.

Nancy carried the zip-lock baggie with the necklace into the house. This vital piece of evidence would not leave her sight tonight.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! I'll try to update daily. If I can't, I'll try to let you know ahead of time. :)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Hannah made the hot chocolate and served it, but did not wish to linger round the kitchen table. The night's events had been too frightening. The possibility of someone stalking Nancy? Why, it was too horrible to contemplate. Really quite unfathomable.

Mr. Drew did his best to calm the older woman. He reminded her of Nancy's many other dangerous cases. Perhaps a poor choice as this did not placate the usually calm Hannah. If anything, it increased her fears.

Nancy chimed in at last, "Please, Hannah, relax. I really think I should be thankful about tonight."

A hand flew to Hannah's chest and her eyes bulged. "How on earth can you say that, Nancy?"

"Because now I know someone's after me. That gives me an advantage, one the other victims did not have. I now know I'm being stalked. They did not."

Hannah harrumphed. "Well, I still say this is a very dangerous business. I don't think I'll sleep a wink until you've solved this case."

"Then Frank and I had better solve it quickly," Nancy joked.

"Oh for ..." A flustered Hannah rose to leave then a thought occurred to her. "You know, Frank might've saved all our lives tonight. Now, I'm quite happy he carries a gun."

Everyone laughed, except Hannah. She had not meant the words in jest and her sour expression let the others know this.

Mr. Drew put an arm round Hannah's shoulders. "There, there, dear. I'll walk you to you room. I still have those papers in my study to finish. This has been a long night for all of us. A good night's sleep will soothe the nerves."

Hannah gave a weary sigh. Sleep? How could anyone sleep with a killer running loose? One that might be after Nancy? Hannah allowed Mr. Drew to gently guide her to her room. She would go straight to bed. She couldn't read another page of her mystery novel. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe things would look brighter in the morning.

Frank and Nancy were left alone in the kitchen.

Frank smiled at Nancy. "She's worried about you. She loves you like a mother."

"I know. And I love her, too. But I was honest with her. I do feel I've been given a break. If this killer is after me, then I'm happy to know it. I can take precautions and protect myself."

"Very true."

Frank drained the last of his hot chocolate and placed the cup on the kitchen table. He eyed it thoughtfully. A slight smile curled the corners of his mouth. Nancy, sitting across from him, wondered if he was thinking about the same thing she was. Their little tussle over the coffee cups. That had been fun. Playful and silly. A nice break from the macabre details of the case.

She remembered his arms around her. How they felt. Natural and comfortable. Like she belonged there, in his arms. She hadn't wanted him to let go. She wondered if he felt the same.

She remembered his warm breath on her neck and his deep, husky voice whispering in her ear. A delighted smile played upon her lips. This evening had certainly been memorable.

"It's been quite a night." Frank's voice brought her sharply back to the present.

"Oh. Yes, yes it has." Was she blushing? She hoped not. And why did she feel he could read her mind?

"Penny for your thoughts."

Nancy fumbled a moment then said, "I .. I was wondering, did you get a good look at the prowler?"

"No, it was too dark."

Nancy's face fell. "You didn't see anything?"

"Sorry."

"Try visualizing the scene. Close your eyes and relive it."

Frank closed his eyes and relaxed. The memory replayed in his head. The man running down the street, a coat flapping round his legs. Frank's eyes snapped open. "He had on a long dark coat."

"Long coat?" Something tugged at the edge of Nancy's mind.

"Yes. I remember thinking that might slow him down. The way the coat flapped around his legs. I thought he might get tangled up in it. Then I was blinded by the car coming down the street."

"Yes, I'd forgotten that." Nancy felt a chill wash over her. Why? What was it she couldn't see. Some bit of information dangled just out of reach. Something she knew, something she'd seen recently. Something that had jogged her mind. But what?

"Nancy?"

"Yes."

"You were lost in thought there. Thinking about something important?"

"Um, no. Did you notice anything else? The prowler's height. The color of his hair? A hat? Anything at all?"

Frank gave it another try, searched his memory again. "Really can't be sure but I think he was wearing a hat. A dark one. I wouldn't swear to it."

He found Nancy staring into the distance again.

"Nan, what's wrong?"

Nancy shook her head and tried to dismiss the eerie feeling pressing in on her. "Something you said. It, it was . . .," she searched for the correct word, "unsettling."

"What'd I say?"

"Wish I knew." She shook her head ruefully. "Maybe it's just the whole situation, the possibility a serial killer was outside my house tonight. I'm wondering, is he really after me? Or was it purely coincidence?"

"I've been wondering the same thing." Frank reached out and placed a hand over hers. "Remember, we're in this together. I have your back. I'd never let anything happen to you. Not that you can't take care of yourself, Nan. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you meant. And it goes both ways. I have your back, too."

She gazed down at his hand on top of hers. Frank followed the direction of her eyes and pulled his hand away.

"I, I, um …"

"It's okay, Frank. I rather liked it."

"It's just that I .. I didn't mean to presume anything."

"Such as?"

"Well, you and Ned."

Nancy smiled disarmingly. "Ned and me. Well, Ned's doing fabulous. He's getting married this summer."

Frank grimaced. "Oh. That's nice."

"Yes, it's very nice. He's marrying a lovely woman named Amanda."

Frank smiled. "You had me going there for a minute."

"Did I?" Nancy cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "What about you and Callie? Any wedding bells in the future or am I too late for congratulations?"

"Already married. To a very nice man named Rob. I attended their wedding last summer. It was beautiful. I'm very happy for them both."

Nancy let out a breath. "Wow. Well, that's fabulous. Really fabulous. I mean about Callie and Rob. That they're happy."

Frank chuckled. "Yeah. And that's great news about Ned. I mean, that he's married. Err, that he's happy and all."

"I know exactly what you mean."

Nancy locked eyes with Frank and they broke into laughter. Loud, spontaneous laughter. Laughter born of irony and relief. Neither would ever voice those thoughts though. Frank was too reserved and Nancy too cautious. They had been attracted to one another from the moment they met on that first case years ago. But neither had breathed a word to the other. They'd let the passion stay buried. Left undisturbed nothing would come of it. Or so they'd thought.

Yes, there had been looks and small touches. Fetching smiles and mild caresses. A murmured, you look beautiful tonight. Here, let me take your hand.

Those sudden touches had aroused feelings and stirred those buried emotions. Of course, they'd rationalized the situation to themselves. Some feelings of concern and protection were bound to creep in. After all, they'd been hired to play a husband and wife. They spent large amounts of time together. Things were bound to happen.

Looking back, one wondered if that had been a feeble excuse. An excuse for the times he held her hand too long or slipped a protective arm round her waist unwarranted?

Well, that was then and this was now. And now, neither one had a significant other. Now, they were free to pursue a relationship.

# # # #

Frank finished collecting the footprint while Nancy took a quick shower. She toweled off, slid into her terry-cloth robe and slippers, and padded to her bedroom. The guestroom was across the hall from her room. A thin strip of light glowed at the bottom of the door. She started to knock, thinking Frank might need something, but stopped.

 _He'd let me know if he needed anything_.

She flipped on her bedroom light and padded to the nightstand. The necklace they'd found beneath the shrub glittered inside the zip-lock bag. A thought, from earlier in the day, rose in Nancy's mind.

 _In less than ten minutes a person's life could be irrevocably changed forever._

Life, so precious, it could be over in the blink of an eye.

If Dawn had had ten more minutes, would she hesitate to knock on a friend's door?

Nancy thought of Frank. If she only had ten minutes left to live, would she hesitate to knock on his door?

# # # #

Frank removed his button-up shirt and tossed it on the bed. The Drew's guestroom had a desk and internet access. Frank's laptop was opened and on the desk. He took a seat and typed a lengthy e-mail to his brother detailing the night's events: the prowler, the necklace, and the footprint. As he clicked send, he heard a soft tap at the door.

"Yeah, come in."

Nancy poked her head into the room, coppery-blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. "Hey Hardy, wanted to know if you needed anything before I call it a night."

"No, I'm fine." Frank stood and took a step toward the door.

Nancy was suddenly very aware of him, of the solidness of his body. He'd grown into a man. He was no longer the lean, lanky teen she remembered. Muscles rippled beneath his tight, white t-shirt and a day's stubble darkened his chin.

Frank placed a hand on the door and smiled at Nancy. She felt the subtle tension between them. The air seemed to crackle with electricity.

"Thanks for checking on me though," he said. He wasn't ready for the conversation to end and added, "Did you ever remember what it was that was bothering you? Whatever was unsettling?" He said the last word delicately as though it had to be handled with care.

Nancy's mind shifted in a whole different direction. "No, I didn't. Maybe it'll come to me after a good night's sleep."

"Maybe," Frank's voice trailed off. He didn't want Nancy to leave, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Frank?" Nancy lifted her head slowly and met Frank's ardent gaze.

He let go of the door. Wondered where this was going.

Nancy reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged him. His arms went around her and pulled her close.

She whispered in his ear, "I'm glad you're here." The hard planes of his body pressed against her. She felt safe and secure in his arms.

He was keenly attuned to her, her moods and emotions. He sensed her unease. The unease of whatever it was that troubled her. The memory she couldn't remember. That certain something she found _unsettling_.

He breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair and tried to forget the case. She was in his arms and smelled heavenly. He smoothed her hair off her forehead and peered into her eyes. "I'll always be there for you, Nancy. Always."

"I know."

A few minutes later Nancy slipped into bed with a dreamy smile. She drifted off to sleep thinking, _Ten minutes. That was a wonderful ten minutes._

Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind a memory stirred. A long coat . . . a dark hat . . .

* * *

 _A/N: Aww, so some forward movement on the romance. There were some subtle hints on the mystery, too. ;)_

 _Thank you very much to those who have left comments._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

He made it to the safety of his tiny studio apartment. He was wound up as tight as a drum. Panting and heaving, he paced the dirty, carpeted floor.

It had all gone wrong tonight. Horribly wrong.

He ran a hand through his short, greasy hair. Wanted to pull his hair out.

Curse words streamed through his head. He cursed himself. Wondered how he could have been so stupid? How?

Uninvited, his mother's wretched face appeared in his mind.

She yelled at him, _"You curse like a drunken sailor! You stupid, worthless, no-good bum. You can't do anything right. You never could. Never."_

His tortured mind screamed back, _"Shut up! Shut the hell up."_

God, how he hated her. He lunged for her neck. Wanted to squeeze the life out of her. Every drop of it.

But the image vanished and he was left clutching empty air. He gasped and sucked in a sharp breath. How could she anger so, even today? She'd been dead ten years, yet continued to torment him. She tormented him now as viciously as when she lived.

His hands balled into fists and pent-up rage electrified every nerve of his frazzled body. He felt like a caged animal. He was ready to pounce at the slightest movement.

Then he remembered … the necklace.

He'd lost the necklace. His souvenir. His one and only reminder of her … _his_ victim.

It had slipped from his hand. A stupid, stupid mistake. A rookie mistake. He'd never made those kinds of mistakes before. Never. Not even in the beginning.

He plopped in a chair at the dining table and ran his hands down his face. He scrubbed at his eyes with his fists.

Why was this happening? Why? Why now? Things had gone smoothly for twenty years. But now …

He sucked in a lungful of air. He couldn't seem to get enough air. The apartment felt damp and close. Oppressive.

His eyes darted around the room. He was nervous and jumpy, full of adrenaline. He felt like a drug addict coming down from a high.

The need to hunt overwhelmed him. Saturated every fiber of his being.

He bolted out of the chair. He had to go. Had to hunt. Had to find someone and claim them as his.

He would prove his mother wrong. He would prove he could do something right.

Yes, he would prove himself. The night was still young. Opportunity waited …

* * *

 _A/N: 'Thank you' to the constant reviewers and new ones. Glad people are still enjoying the story. Sorry this chapter was short, but it's interesting to see what's going on with the killer. Right? Next chapter is longer. :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The late April weather finally decided to warm up. A bright, sunny day greeted Nancy and Frank when they left the house the next morning. Over breakfast, they had decided on a plan of action for the day. They would search the neighboring streets for an oil stain. One had been found in Bayport and one had been found not far from Dawn Bedingfield's house. If this was indeed the same killer, Nancy and Frank hoped to find an oil stain on a street near her home.

They walked to the end of the driveway. Frank turned and went left down the sidewalk. Nancy went right. A little over an hour later, Nancy's cellphone buzzed.

"I found a stain," Frank's voice was calm, but Nancy detected a note of dread.

If this stain matched the one from Mrs. Davis' house, it made the encounter last night all the more ominous.

"Meet me at my car and I'll drive us here," Frank said.

"I'll be at the car in five minutes."

They met at the rental car, drove it to the stain, and took a sample. As they prepared to leave, Nancy's cellphone buzzed.

"Nancy Drew here. Yes. Oh no. That's awful. Yes. Of course. We'll be there in fifteen minutes." Nancy turned to Frank. "That was Detective Rivera. Another girl was attacked last night. The good news is, she's alive. Rivera and Hagan are waiting for us at the station. They'll fill us in when we get there."

"I hope she wasn't badly hurt. Maybe, she got a look at her attacker."

"Maybe. One can hope," Nancy said.

 **River Heights Police Station, 11:00am . . .**

Rivera was on the phone when Nancy and Frank entered the office.

"Okay, thanks. Yes. Thanks. Yes, please keep us posted." Rivera hung up the phone and turned to Nancy and Frank. "That was the hospital. I'd hoped to interview the victim today, but the doctors are playing it safe. No questions or interviews until tomorrow."

"That's disappointing," Nancy said.

Frank set a bag on Nancy's desk. The bag contained last night's evidence: the necklace and a cast of the footprint. A sample of today's oil stain was also enclosed.

"What's the woman's condition?" Nancy asked.

"Severe concussion, scrapes and bruises, still a bit dazed and confused. Hagan has the details on the attack." Rivera nodded at Hagan indicating he should share his information.

Hagan slid on reading glasses and scooped up some papers on his desk. "Victim's name is Katie Nichols. Twenty-five year old waitress. She works at the _Longhorn Steak House_ in the River Heights Mall. She'd just finished work and was headed to her boyfriend's car when she was attacked in the mall parking lot. Time of the attack was 11:55pm. Miss Nichols' was hit on the head with a blunt object. Luckily, she wasn't knocked unconscious and was able to fight her attacker until her boyfriend arrived on the scene. The boyfriend had come to pick Katie up, but got waylaid in the restaurant by a friend. Katie headed to the car while her boyfriend finished talking with his friend. He was on his way to the car when he heard the commotion and ran to Katie's aid. He pulled the guy off of his girlfriend and the guy bolted. The boyfriend didn't pursue the attacker because he was more concerned about his girlfriend's injuries. He called 911 immediately."

Hagan took off his glasses and laid them on the desk. "If you ask me, she's one lucky gal."

"No doubt about," agreed Detective Rivera. "We have an interview set-up with the boyfriend today at one. I'm hoping he saw something. Even a partial ID would be great."

"I have my fingers crossed," Nancy said.

Rivera put his forearms on his desk and leaned forward. "Now, we'd like to hear what happened at your house last night, Miss Drew."

Nancy and Frank related the events of their evening. Hagan took notes as they talked. Frank included the information Joe had gathered in Florida.

"My brother will call today after he finishes interviewing the witness," Frank said. "He also promised to fax the partial footprint here, to the Police Station. It might be here now."

"And it might match the one you got last night," Rivera said.

"That's what I'm hoping," Frank said.

Rivera reached for his phone. "I'm calling the Crime Scene boys. I want them on this right away. Those oil stains and footprints have just become a priority."

Hagan scanned his notes then brought his eyes up and frowned at Frank. "You say it was 10:30pm when you spotted the prowler?"

"Yeah. Nancy and I'd just finished watching the ten o'clock news."

"How long would you say the encounter lasted? From the time you saw the prowler till the time he got away? Thirty minutes maybe?"

"Certainly no longer than that. Maybe less."

Nancy moved closer to Hagan's desk. "What are you thinking?"

Hagan met Nancy's gaze. "How long does it take to get from your house to the mall, Miss Drew?"

"At that time of night there's hardly any traffic. Twenty minutes at most."

Hagan leaned back in his chair. "It fits, doesn't it? Your prowler could be our killer. He had plenty of time to get from your house to the mall and attack Katie Nichols."

Nancy felt a chill and stiffened slightly. "Yes, I've thought of that. Frank and I discussed it last night. If it was the killer, he must've been waiting in the bushes just like with Dawn Bedingfield."

"Or," Frank said a bit hesitant, "as we discussed, he might've followed you home. He might've followed Dawn Bedingfield, too, for all we know."

Nancy lifted her chin. "True. Either scenario is possible."

Hagan sensed a smidgen of tension between Nancy and Frank. She's in denial and he's ready to be her knight in shining armor, Hagan thought. He defused the situation with his next comment, "Seems our killer likes the mall. He's attacked there twice. Good place to shop for victims."

"Well, that's certainly true," Nancy said.

Plans were made for the day. Rivera and Hagan would check-out the crime scene at the mall and then interview Katie Nichols' boyfriend. Nancy and Frank would take the necklace and show it to Mr. and Mrs. Bedingfield. If they could not identify it, then Nancy and Frank would contact Eric Park, Dawn's former fiancé.

# # # #

And now they knew. Mrs. Bedingfield had identified the necklace immediately as Dawn's and then broke down. A torrent of tears and heartbreaking sobs. Mr. Bedingfield had lead his wife away, presumably to the bedroom. He reappeared five minutes later and apologized profusely.

"Please, no need for apologies," Frank said. "We understand how difficult this is."

Mr. Bedingfield slumped onto the sofa and rested his head on his hand. "Eric gave Dawn the necklace a few months ago. I can't remember exactly when. She was so happy. They were so much in love."

Before Mr. Bedingfield broke down completely, Frank produced a receipt for the necklace. The Bedingfields would receive the necklace when the case was solved. For now, it was evidence. Evidence of man's inhumanity toward man. Given in love, the necklace had been taken in evil. In the vilest act known to mankind … murder.

# # # #

"Well, that's that," Frank said with finality.

He and Nancy were in his rental car parked half a block from the Bedingfield's house. Frank hadn't wanted to drive anywhere yet. He and Nancy needed a moment to digest their new information. Perhaps, to discuss it.

A day that had started bright and sunny wasn't so bright and sunny any more. Not after the visit with Mr. and Mrs. Bedingfield.

Nancy was unusually quiet. Frank eyed her obliquely and proceeded with caution, "So, the necklace belongs to Dawn. It's a fact. Positively identified by both parents. "

Nancy stared out the passenger window. "What you mean is, our prowler and Dawn's killer are one and the same."

"Yes, that's precisely what I mean."

They sat in silence for a full minute, Nancy staring out the window and Frank wondering what she was thinking. Finally, he said, "You're awfully quiet."

"Am I?"

She turned to face him and he shifted in his seat. "Yeah. Something bothering you?"

She studied her hands. "Yes. I can't put my finger on what it is though." She brought her eyes up to his. "But when I do, you'll be the first to know."

"Is it that 'unsettling' thing? The thing you can't remember?"

"Yes."

# # # #

They stopped at a sandwich shop. Nancy recommended it highly. The exterior caused Frank to have visions of finger sandwiches and teacakes. Nancy, however, promised him this was not the case. It wasn't all girly food, she said, there were manly meals, too. He just had to trust her on this. And so he did. He was a hostage in his own rental car.

She went in to order take-out while he stayed in the car and phoned Joe. Surely, Joe had some information by now. Surely, he'd concluded his interview with the witness, the prostitute-slash-drunk.

Frank spoke into his phone, "Joe, how's it going?"

"Fine, fine. How's things in River Heights?"

"Busy. We made some progress today." Frank filled Joe in on the necklace and the fact it belonged to Dawn Bedingfield. He finished with, "Got the partial footprint you faxed. Just waiting to see if it matches the one Nancy and I discovered last night. The Crime Scene guys are on it now."

"Good. Glad to hear that."

"Got some bad news though. Another girl was attacked here last night."

"Damn. You're kidding me. Another murder?"

"No. Not murdered. The victim fought back until her boyfriend came to the rescue. He pulled the attacker off, but didn't chase him. He was more worried about his girlfriend."

"Can't blame him there. I'd do the same. Glad to hear she's alive."

"Yeah. Me, too. The detectives here are interviewing the boyfriend today. Hopefully, they can interview the victim tomorrow. Still, the worrying thing is, the killer's still out there. And he's gotta be mad. And frustrated. Two attempts in one night and he comes up empty on both."

"He might get reckless. Might give us a chance to catch him."

"Maybe. So, fill me in. What'd your witness have to say?"

Just as Joe finished his story, Nancy arrived with sandwiches and drinks.

"We can eat at the station," she said. "Did you get a hold of Joe?"

"Just got off the phone with him. I'll share his info at the station. Maybe Rivera and Hagan will be there, too. I can tell everyone at the same time."

Frank started the engine and put the car in gear. "Oh, and I told Joe to book a flight. I want him here to help us. He'll call later with his flight info."

# # # #

Nancy and Frank arrived at the Police Station moments before Rivera and Hagan. Nancy had just placed the sandwich bag on her desk when the detectives walked in. They looked weary and disheartened.

"How'd it go?" Nancy said. "Find anything at the crime scene?"

Hagan took off his jacket and draped it over his chair. "Nope, not a thing." He plopped in the chair and loosened his tie.

"Any luck with the boyfriend?"

Rivera answered, "He didn't see much. Thinks the attacker might've been wearing a long black coat and hat. How about you two? The Bedingfields' ID the necklace?"

Nancy removed sandwiches from the bag. "Sadly, yes. The fiancé had given it to Dawn a few months ago. The parents are positive. No hesitation when they saw it."

Rivera opened his mouth to speak, but Nancy continued, "And yes, that does suggest that the prowler and killer are one and the same."

"Not necessarily," Hagan said. "The prowler could've stolen the necklace from the killer. Or the killer could've dropped it somewhere and the prowler found it."

Frank and Rivera looked at Hagan as if to say, possible but not likely.

Rivera cleared his throat. "Yes, well that's something to consider." His attention drifted to Nancy. "Those sandwiches smell good."

Nancy smiled. "You're welcome to one. I wasn't sure what Frank would like so I bought two extra. I got all the known man pleasers: meatball sub, pastrami on rye, and loaded ham and cheese."

Rivera laughed and winked at Frank. "She's a keeper."

Frank grinned at Nancy. "I won't disagree with that."

# # # #

Lunch was over. Finished and done. Sandwich wrappers were in the trash. Half empty soda cans sat on desks.

Rivera took a final chug of his soda and peered at Frank. "Hear from your brother?"

"Yup, and it's interesting. I've been thinking about it. This long, dark coat plays into every scenario we have. Joe's witness mentioned it, too."

Rivera sat a little straighter in his chair. "Really? Let's hear the story."

"Joe's witness passed out in her vehicle. She's a drunk and a prostitute. That night she was way too drunk to even consider driving home. She passed out in her car in the bar's parking lot. Sometime later, a noise woke her. She pulled herself up in time to look through the passenger's window. She saw a man in a long, dark coat and a big black hat bending over a woman lying on the ground."

Nancy felt a mental nudge, an irresistible pull to the past. The recent past. Yes, something in the recent past.

Rivera snorted and quipped, "I hate to say it, but maybe we should just start tracking down anyone wearing a long dark coat."

Coat, Nancy thought. Long, dark coat. That struck a chord. It had substance. Long, dark coat. Where had she seen one?

"So, we're agreed," Hagan said. "We're looking for a guy in a long, dark coat and a black hat?"

Rivera shrugged. "That's about it. Um, by the way, I spoke to Chief Logan this morning. He said memorial services for Dawn Bedingfield are tomorrow at five. We should all try and attend. Show the family our support."

Hagan brushed crumbs off his desk. "There's a graveside service on Saturday at eleven a.m. Some of us should try and make that."

 _Graveside_ , the word tugged at Nancy's mind. Pulled her to her mother's grave. Her recent visit to her mother's grave. It had been cold and windy that day.

And then it hit, like a bolt of lightning.

" _He was there,"_ Nancy whispered more to herself than to the others.

The three men simultaneously turned and stared at her. She was at her desk. Hunched over it. Her palms flat against the surface. Her arms straight and locked, supporting her body.

Frank was the first to response, "Nancy, what's wrong?"

"He was there," she repeated. She had to force the words out. Her breathing was fast and her chest tight.

She looked up and saw three sets of eyes focused on her. "At my mother's grave. My father and I visit it every year on the anniversary of her death. That was last week."

Her voice was small and raspy. It didn't sound like it normally did.

"I got to the cemetery before dad. I saw a man. I remember now, he was in a long dark coat. I remember because … because at first I thought he'd been at my mother's grave. That couldn't be, I thought. He must've been at a grave near hers. That's what I told myself. It was the only thing that made sense." She shook her head, dislodged more information. Used her hands to elaborate. "He wandered away. Sat on a bench. I didn't think much about him after that. Except … except there was something about him. Something wrong. I knew it then. I sensed it."

Nancy lapsed into silence, scratching her head.

Frank moved closer. "Think, Nancy. What was wrong?"

Nancy jerked as though startled and looked at the three men staring at her. "Just a feeling. Intuition. He was covered up. Too covered up. It was chilly and windy, but … but the coat and hat were overkill. You know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," Frank said. "I want you to think carefully now, Nan. Did you see his face?"

Rivera and Hagan stood silently, anxiously awaiting the answer.

Nancy squeezed her eyes shut and peered into the past. A past only she could see. "He had on a black hat. It covered his head. Hid his hair and face." Her eyes popped open. "Darkglassess. He had on dark sunglasses. I couldn't see his face. But I didn't try to. There wasn't a reason to. Not then."

Frank blew out a breath. So close.

Nancy snapped her fingers and her eyes lit up. "I remember. He had a white rose."

"A white rose?" Frank brow knotted in confusion.

"Yes. When dad and I were leaving I saw him again. He was sitting on a bench with a white rose in his hands. He had gloves on and I remember thinking, why hasn't he put the rose on a grave. Surely, he came there to put the rose on a grave. But he just sat there. Sat on that bench like he was waiting. Like he waiting for us." She lifted her gaze to Frank. Met his warm, brown eyes. "I think he was waiting for us to leave."

Frank stood there gaping at her.

She grabbed him by the arms. "Don't you see? The rose is a clue."

Frank struggled to response. "I do. But …"

Nancy yanked her handbag off the desk. "I have to go to the cemetery. Have to find the grave he put the rose on."

Frank grabbed her by the wrist. "Nancy. Wait."

She jerked her wrist free. "I have to find the rose. It's important."

Rivera held up a hand. He used the calmest, mildest voice he possessed. "We all want to know where the rose is, but humor me for a minute. Let's run through a few possibilities first."

Hagan coughed into his fist. "If he's our killer, he could've been visiting one of his victims."

Frank winced. "And he leaves them a rose?"

Hagan lifted his shoulders and spread out his arms. "A present perhaps? A memento of the past."

"I like that idea," Nancy said. "A memento."

"He could've been visiting a relative." Rivera tried his utmost to sound reasonable. "His mother or father. A brother or sister."

Nancy didn't like this chit-chat. This back and forth. She preferred action to talk. Action usually got results. Talk just spun ideas.

"The clue is in where he left the rose," she said, a hard edge to her voice.

A nasty thought reared its head in Frank's mind. Couldn't she see it? The man had possibly been to her mother's grave. He'd definitely been at her house. That was a fact. An undisputable fact. Couldn't she see the connection? The horrible possibility?

Nancy was cooling her heels, itching to go. No, Frank thought, she was too wrapped up in catching the killer. She hadn't seen where this might lead. The possibility.

How to broach the subject?

Be direct, he decided. "Nancy, if he was at your mother's grave …"

She stared at him as if he were crazy.

Rivera's eyes widened in comprehension. "Miss Drew, forgive me for being blunt, but how did your mother die?"

Nancy stood there, frozen in place. What in the world did her mother's death have to do with this?

When Nancy did not answer, Frank whispered to Rivera, "She told me, a car accident."

Nancy suddenly blurted out, "We're wasting time. I'm going to the cemetery."

"I'm going with you," Frank said. His tone said she had no choice.

"Fine. I'll meet you in the car." She slung her handbag over her shoulder and exited the office. Her stride was purposeful and determined.

Rivera grabbed his jacket off his chair. "I'm going with you," he told Frank. "Hagan, find out everything you can about Mrs. Drew's death."

"I believe her first name was Elizabeth," Frank said.

Hagan's face slowly folded into a questioning frown. "You don't think this killer has anything to do with Nancy's mother, do you?"

"I don't know what to think," Rivera said. "But something's not right here. We can't leave any stone unturned. Find out everything you can about Mrs. Drew. Go through the cold case files if you have to. Just find out _how_ she died."

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry about yesterday, but everyone deserves a day off. :) Hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you folks for the reviews. Cheers!_

 _To Guest: thank you for the insight on my writing style - how it changes for the villain. And yes, Chapter 10 of this story is very similar to a chapter in "Meet Me at Midnight." I like both chapters and am so glad you found the one in "Midnight" inspiring. That was my intention. That and getting across the message that life really is too short! Live every second to the fullest._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **River Heights Cemetery, 4:00pm . . .**

The cars pulled into the deserted cemetery parking lot, Frank and Nancy in his rental car, Detective Rivera in a patrol car. Nancy had not spoken during the ride. Frank wondered if she'd might have realized the rose could be resting on her mother's grave. Of course, the wind could have blown it away. That would be better than finding it on Mrs. Drew's grave.

They exited the car and Frank pulled Nancy aside. "Nan, Rivera and I can check the graves. I really think it would be best if you waited here, at the car."

Nancy frowned at Frank. "What are you talking about? This was my idea. I want to know where he left the rose. He might not have left it at all. He might've taken it with him."

"I thought of that, too." Part of Frank hoped this was indeed the case.

Rivera joined the couple. He eyed Nancy with concern. "Are you sure you're up to this, Miss Drew? Personally, I think you should wait here."

Nancy looked from Rivera to Frank. She finally realized what was afoot. Frank saw the stricken expression on her face and knew she'd figured it out.

She shot an accusatory glare at both men. "The two of you are worried about me. You think the rose might be on my mother's grave." She shook her head and swept flyaway strands of hair off her face. "That's impossible. My mother died in a car accident twenty years ago and there was nothing suspicious about it."

Frank dipped his head and peered at Nancy from beneath his brow. "You can't be sure. You were only three."

"My father was there. He would've known. He would've told me if there'd been any … anything more to her death. My father has never lied to me."

Frank stared at the ground a second. Thought about what to say and how to say it. She'd gone into denial again and that wasn't where he wanted her to be.

"I'm not saying your father lied. I'd never suggest that and I don't think your father's capable of lying. Not to you. But I want you to look at this from all angles. You have to keep your mind open to every possibility."

Nancy heaved in a deep breath. "I will. I promise. But I have to see it with my own eyes. If it's there … Well, then ..."

Frank slid a hand into Nancy's and their fingers entwined. "We're in this together. I'll be beside you every step of the way."

"I appreciate that."

The group walked in silence over the neatly trimmed lawn. The grass was thick and lush. Slowly, they passed grave after grave. Frank held Nancy's hand tight and scanned the cemetery. He prayed he would spot the white rose first.

 _Please dear God, let the rose be on someone else's grave_. It was a shameful thought and Frank instantly regretted it. To wish suffering on someone else was unforgiveable. If they found the rose today, there would be no winners. Someone, somewhere would have their world destroyed.

Nancy stopped and squeezed Frank's hand.

"You okay? You want to go back?" Frank asked.

"No." She pointed at a stone bench. "That's where he was sitting with the rose." She pointed in a different direction. "My mother's grave is down this row."

The trio proceeded through a narrow row of graves. Frank and Nancy in the lead. Rivera a few steps behind. The day was hot and a bead of sweat formed on Frank's brow. He wiped it away as he searched for the elusive rose.

Nancy appeared stoic and resolute. She stopped abruptly. "My mother's grave is the next one on the right. I left a small bouquet of flowers." Nancy grabbed the front of Frank's jacket and peered into his eyes. She hadn't seen the grave yet and suddenly didn't wanted to. Apprehension raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Rivera continued past Frank and Nancy. His eyes widened as he got a good view of the grave. He nodded a warning to Frank.

Frank tried to turn Nancy away, tried to block her view of the grave. "Nan. Please."

Nancy pulled free and stepped around him. She came face-to-face with the one thing she had not wanted to see. The one thing she had thought impossible. But here it was. An ugly reality. A horrible reality that made no sense. She stood there, dumbfounded and in shock. The discovery was momentous.

Frank watched her. She fell to her knees and he knelt beside her. Rivera was on one knee across from them. Three sets of eyes studied the small bouquet of wilted spring flowers. A few retained their bright blues and yellows, but most had dried up and gracefully bowed their heads to the earth. A final farewell.

It wasn't the wilted spring flowers, however, that drew anyone's attention. It was the dried and withered, solitary rose. It lay perpendicular to the bouquet. The petals, once a brilliant white, were now a dusty beige.

Frank ventured, "I wonder if it could have blown here from another grave."

Rivera grimaced. "It's seems _so_ perfectly placed."

Frank checked on Nancy. She was staring at the rose.

"It was placed here," she spoke with conviction. "On purpose. You can see that."

And you could. There was little doubt in anyone's mind.

"But why?" Nancy glanced up at Frank and Rivera. Frank had heard the tremor in her voice.

Questions raced through her mind. She started to ponder the answers, but soon gave up. Did she really want answers? They might prove too horrible to imagine? And then what? Where would that leave her?

Her brow creased in confusion and fine lines spread across her forehead. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing at all. Not after this. She had said the rose wouldn't be here. And yet, here it was.

The rose. That blasted rose. It had once been beautiful. A symbol of love and affection. Not this rose. No. This rose was evil. It had been placed on her mother's grave with malice. Nancy didn't like that. It made her angry. Incredibly angry.

 _He_ had placed it here. The killer. He wasn't supposed to be here and neither was the rose. This was a sacred place and he had desecrated it. Brought his evil and hate here.

Nancy suddenly found it hard to breath. The world closed in on her, trapped her in a shroud of darkness. She didn't like it here and wanted to get away. Wanted to run and never stop running.

It's all a dream, she told herself. A horrible, terrible dream. If only she could wake up, then it would all be over. The sun would shine again. The sky would be blue and the clouds would be white.

She blinked, tried to see beyond the heavy fog that engulfed her. Her vision was blurry and questions flickered in her mind. Nasty questions with horrid answers. Every second brought more questions. They threatened to smother her. To pull her down with their enormous weight.

She couldn't breathe. She was drowning in a sea of questions. Literally drowning. Oxygen. Where had all the air gone?

Frank's voice broke through the murk, "Nan, you're hyperventilating. Slow down. Take slow, easy breathes."

How long had he been talking to her?

Rivera's voice came from far away, somewhere in the fog. "Get her to the car. Lay her in the back seat. There's a blanket in my car. I'll get it."

Frank's strong arms cradled and guided her through the darkness. Willingly she went. Unthinking. Thinking was difficult. Thoughts and questions were painful.

As she trudged beside Frank, she mumbled, "But, but the only reason would be . . . Would be if she was a victim. That can't be. . . . No. Everything would be a lie."

Frank's voice, "You need to lie down, Nan. We'll figure this out later."

"Later?" She jerked to a stop. She wore a thousand mile stare.

Frank sensed she wasn't with him. She wasn't in the 'here and now.'

"One foot in front of the other," he said. "Just a few more steps to the car."

Nancy moved on wobbly legs. "Dad. Dad knows everything."

The world had started to spin. It was spinning too fast. Someone needed to make it stop. She was dizzy and short of breath. Someone had taken all the air.

"Almost there," Frank said.

"I can't breathe," she gasped and collapsed into Frank's arms.

He carried her to the car and laid her on the back seat. Rivera was waiting with the blanket. "I can't believe it," he said and draped the blanket over her.

Frank let out a long, slow sigh. "The shock was too great. I tried to warn her."

Rivera leaned against the outside of the car. "You did. But she didn't want to see it. Didn't want to think it possible."

"I know."

Rivera pulled out his cellphone. "Well, now we know. There's a connection between Mrs. Drew and our killer. I'm going to check in with Hagan. Maybe he's found out something about Mrs. Drew's death. Anything would be helpful at this point."

Frank nodded. "I better call Nancy's father. Let him know what happened."

Frank walked a short distance away and took out his cellphone. He dialed Carson Drew's office. After a few rings, the phone was picked up.

"Mr. Drew? It's Frank Hardy."

"Frank, something wrong?" There was fear in the older man's voice.

"Everything's fine. It's just that Nancy fainted."

"Fainted? She's never fainted before. What happened?"

"She's fine, sir. Honestly. She's resting in the car. Detective Rivera and I are with her."

"What's going on?" Carson Drew demanded.

"I don't mean to alarm you, sir. Really, I don't. And there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I'll be direct."

Frank heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

"Our investigation has led us to your wife." He gave Mr. Drew a second to process the information. "Mr. Drew, we need to talk about how your wife died."

There was a long pause and Frank wondered if Carson Drew was still on the line.

Finally, Carson Drew said, "You're right, Frank. We need to talk."

A few minutes later, Rivera waved to Frank. Nancy was awake. Frank finished his call and holstered his cellphone. His face was grim as he walked back to the car.

# # # #

Carson Drew sat alone in his office. Tears filled his eyes, overflowed the corners, and ran down his face. He bowed his head and relived the pain he'd tucked away so long ago. The pain he had hoped he would never feel again. The unbearable pain he had almost not survived the first time. How could he survive it a second time?

Tears fell on his tidy office desk and on the freshly typed letter his secretary had handed him moments before Frank's call. The phone call he had prayed he would never receive.

The past. It had all been in the past. And now it was here. In the present. It had come to haunt him again. And Nancy.

The pain had found a new victim.

* * *

 _A/N: A big thank you to my reviewers: Max2013, Shani8, ILoveMom, Lexi, Snowgirl, Beachgirlsrule, j, and guests. I appreciate your comments and the time it takes to leave them. As to Mrs. Drew's name, I went with Elizabeth because I saw it in many fanfics. Her name was never mentioned in the books (as far as I can remember.)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Carson Drew pulled into the driveway, turned off his car, and sat there silently composing himself. He had to tell Nancy everything, the whole truth. He saw Hannah standing on the porch. Her nose was red and her eyes damp. She'd been crying. He'd called her from the office and told her about the phone conversation with Frank.

He remembered that day twenty years ago. Hannah had been waiting on the porch then, too. Tears in her eyes. A few months before … before the unthinkable happened, Hannah had become part of the Drew household.

Thank God, she'd been here. What had started as a part-time nanny and housekeeper position became a full-time, live-in job overnight. Hannah had been happy to stay. Although, she'd only been with the family a few months, she already loved Nancy dearly and thought of her as a beloved niece.

Carson gathered up his briefcase and climbed out of the car. He met Hannah on the porch steps and gave her a one-armed hug.

"We'll make it through this," he said as much for his sake as hers.

Hannah dabbed at her eyes. "Nancy's strong. And smart. She'll understand."

"I hope so. She and Frank will be here any minute." Carson opened the door and he and Hannah entered the house.

"I'll make some tea," Hannah offered.

She watched Carson head to his study. Hannah doubted anyone would want tea, but it gave her something to do, something to occupy her mind. She filled the kettle with fresh water and put it on the stove. The water had just began to boil when she heard the front door open. Frank's voice drifted down the hallway and then he and Nancy entered the kitchen.

Hannah embraced Nancy in an awkward hug.

"You okay?" Hannah asked nervously.

Nancy's face was pale and drawn. Her lips a thin, straight line. Hannah detected anger and resentment, but knew it wasn't directed at her.

"Where's dad?" The hostility in Nancy's voice was something Hannah had not heard in all the years she'd worked for the Drews.

"Right here." Mr. Drew stood in the doorway.

Nancy faced her father. Unable to speak, she simply stared. Her eyes flashed and Frank's words rang in her ears, _Hear him out, give him a chance, don't jump to conclusions_. All good advice and all things Frank had told her on the drive home.

"If he's guilty of anything, it's of trying to protect his daughter. A daughter he cares very much about," Frank had said. For good measure, he'd added, "You know that."

Frank was right, but this wasn't happening to him. He didn't have a thousand emotions playing tug-of-war in his head and heart.

"Let's talk in my study," Mr. Drew said.

Nancy walked past her father and into his study. Mr. Drew followed. He understood his daughter's anger and had no intention of minimizing it. Twenty years ago he'd felt a similar anger. He shut the door to the study and hoped Nancy would listen with her heart to what he had to say.

Hannah let out a heavy sigh and brushed a tear from her cheek. "I hope this doesn't cause a rift. I couldn't bear to see them stay angry at each other. They've always been so close."

Frank laid a reassuring hand on Hannah's shoulder. "I think they'll make it through this. This may even bring them closer together."

"I hope you're right."

The kettle hissed and Hannah removed it from the flame. "Tea's ready. Would you like a cup?"

"No thanks, Mrs. Gruen. I need to call my dad. I'll be in the guest room if anyone needs me."

# # # #

Nancy sat on the small sofa in her father's study. Carson Drew eased himself onto the sofa and sat beside his daughter. It hurt that she didn't look at him. Instead, she kept her head down. A cold, hard façade masked her feelings.

"Nancy, I love you. I love you so much I can't even express it in words." The way he said her name warmed her heart and melted some of the icy feelings.

She fought to contain the tears welling in her eyes. "I know. I love you, too. But I need to know, dad. I need to know what really happened."

She lifted her head and saw the pain and grief etched on his face. The last of her anger evaporated and she hugged her father tightly.

"Oh, dad."

In that moment, Carson knew everything would be okay. Better than okay. He hadn't lost his precious, little girl.

"I'll tell you everything," he said in a tear-filled voice.

# # # #

Frank kicked off his shoes and changed into a T-shirt and jeans before dialing his father's office. Frank's father, Fenton Hardy, had started life as a detective with the New York Police Department. He had made a name for himself within the department and the state. The hustle and bustle of New York City wore him down and he eventually decided to resign. It was a good decision. He started his own detective agency in the small town of Bayport, New York. Initially, he worked alone, but once his sons were teenagers, they frequently joined him on cases. They soon proved to be worthy detectives in their own right.

The Hardy Detective Agency could boost it had solved cases, not only across the United States, but overseas as well. Fenton Hardy was now a well-known and highly respected name.

"Hardy Detective Agency, Fenton Hardy speaking."

"Hey, dad. It's Frank."

"Frank. Nice to hear from you. How's things going with the case in River Heights? How are the Drews?"

"That's why I'm calling, dad. I need your advice. The case has taken an ugly twist and it involves the Drews."

"I'm not following son. What exactly do you mean?"

"This may take a while to explain. Got a minute? Or ten?"

"I've got plenty of time and you have my undivided attention."  
Frank sat on the bed and told his father everything. He told him about the prowler, the second attack, the oil stains, the tire prints, and footprints. He ended with the heart-wrenching discovery of the rose on Mrs. Drew's grave.

Frank pushed off the bed and started pacing the room. "This case has become personal. Not just for Nancy, but for me, too. I want to get this guy. I want to kill him for what he's done to Nancy and her mother her and father. I want to make him pay for what he's done to all the other families, too. We don't even know how many women he's killed."

Frank's free hand curled into a fist. He wanted to hit something. A few rounds with a punching bag would have been great.

"I know I'm getting way too emotionally involved here, dad. You always told Joe and me not to do that. You can't stay objective about a case if you're emotionally involved, you said. But you know what? I don't care. I hope you can understand, dad. I'm in this to the bitter end. I'm not quitting the case. I'm going to nail this guy."

"Frank." The older Hardy's voice was calm and patience.

"Yes, dad."

"I understand exactly how you feel and I say that from a very unique perspective."

"What's that, dad?"

Fenton sighed, "Son, Mrs. Drew's murder was my first case twenty years ago."

Frank was stunned into silence.

"You still there, Frank?"

"Um, yeah. How'd you get involved?"

Fenton leaned back in his office chair and related the events of twenty years ago. "I'd just opened the doors of the Hardy Detective Agency when Mrs. Drew was murdered. The River Heights detectives assigned to the case were new and inexperienced. Based on the scene, they assumed it was a car accident. Elizabeth's car had gone off the road and hit a tree. She was slumped over the steering wheel, so it seemed natural to assume she'd lost control of the vehicle and crashed into a tree. It wasn't until the coroner found strangulation marks on her neck, and no internal injuries consistent with a car crash, that the detectives changed their assumption and began to think about murder."

Frank plopped on the edge of the bed, his mind reeling.

# # # #

Carson clutched his daughter's hand in both of his as he told his story. "It was a week after the accident and we'd just had the funeral. I'd somewhat accepted the fact that I'd lost my wife. The love of my life. The mother of my beautiful baby girl." Carson gave Nancy a sad smile.

"Then things got worse. The horror returned and it was worse. Worse than I could've imagined. The police came back and told me it wasn't an accident. Elizabeth had been dead before the car hit the tree. She'd been murdered. You can't believe what a shock that was."

Actually, Nancy could. She'd experienced the same thing today at the cemetery.

She felt him shudder and his pulse quickened. He looked like a wounded animal. Wounded and defeated.

He shook his head. "I couldn't deal with it. Not at first. I didn't want to believe it. Murdered? It took my breath away every time I thought about it."

Mr. Drew paused and rubbed the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand. Nancy waited for her father to regain his composure.

He took a breath and continued, "I really had a hard time coming to grips with the news. I'd just buried my wife and now I had to tell family and friends the police had made a mistake. A horrible mistake."

"That must have been hard," Nancy whispered.

"I tried to tell you, Nancy. But you were only three. You barely understood what was going on. Every night, when I'd tuck you into bed, you'd asked, when's mommy coming home. Those words broke my heart. Every night, I died a little more."

"Oh, dad. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." A tear ran down her cheek.

"Of course, you didn't. I didn't blame you for asking. The doctors said it was perfectly normal and that I should answer as truthfully as possible. I'd say, Mommy's in heaven. And you'd say, ' _because of the car_.' You must have remembered what Hannah and I had told you. What we all had thought was true."

"I remember saying that. ' _Because of the car_.'"

"My world was shattered. Completely. I didn't have the heart to shatter yours, too. Not then. You were too young to understand what had happened. I promised myself I'd tell you the truth one day when you were older. When the time was right. But as time passed, there never seemed to be a _right time_. You were so happy and enjoying life. I couldn't break your heart. I didn't have the strength.

"Why burden you? I said. What good would it do? I've lived every day knowing that the man who killed my wife got away with it. That was a pain I didn't want you to share. Can you forgive me?"

Nancy leaned her head against her father's shoulder. "There's nothing to forgive. You were protecting me. I understand that now."

They sat in silent and let the love flow between them.

Finally, Nancy looked up at her father and frowned. "Dad, didn't you worry that I might find out the truth one day?"

"Yes, I did. Especially when you started your detective career. I almost told you then, when you were eighteen. But I decided not to. I saw the way you tackled cases. You were, and are, tenacious. You stick with a case to the bitter end no matter what the consequences. I feared that if you knew the truth about your mother you might become obsessed with the case. It might take over your life."

Nancy almost laughed. "I think you're right. It would have. But here's the thing, dad. I'm on the case now and I'm going to solve it. I'm going to catch this killer. That's a promise."

Carson Drew looked worried. "Nancy, that's an awfully big promise. And I have to tell you, I had a similar promise twenty years ago."

"Huh?"

"Twenty years ago, I hired one of the best detectives in the country to find your mother's killer. He made me the exact same promise, but he never solved the case."

"Who was this great detective?"

"Fenton Hardy."

Nancy's jaw dropped and she stared at her father.

# # # #

"Are you still there, Frank?"

"Yeah, dad. Still here. I'm shocked to hear you worked Mrs. Drew's murder case."

"Well, like I was saying, it was about a week after the accident when the detectives got the coroner's report and realized Elizabeth had been murdered. By then, it was too late to collect fingerprints or footprints. The local community had taken Elizabeth Drew's death personally and people turned out in droves. They left flowers at the spot where she'd died. They destroyed any footprints the killer may have left. To compound matters, the car was put in a repair shop and the owner, trying to be kind-hearted, thoroughly detailed the car inside and out. Any fingerprints that were in the car were cleaned away."

"I can't believe this. It sounds like the detectives were left with absolutely nothing to go on."

"They were. They had no evidence and no leads. What few leads they'd had, were exhausted by then. The case quickly went cold and that's when Carson called me."

"How'd you do?"

"Not very well, I'm ashamed to say. I promised Carson I was going to find whoever did this and make them pay. I was going to get the murdering scumbag that killed his wife. Sound familiar?"

Frank grinned. "Yeah, it does."

Fenton's voice turned sober, "I was never able to keep that promise. It tears me up to this day that I didn't catch the killer."

"Dad?"

"Yes."

"The Hardys are on the case now. All three of us and we're going to keep that promise. Mark my words. We will find Mrs. Drew's killer and we will bring him to justice."

"I hope you're right, son."

"Starting now. You have all your original notes and files, don't you?"

Fenton chuckled. What a son. Frank always got right to the point. "I do, son. Get me Carson's fax number and I'll start sending them."

"Will do. I'll call Joe and fill him in on everything. He's due to arrive here tomorrow."

* * *

 _A/N: Can't thank the reviewers enough. You're great! :)_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

He took the TV dinner out of the microwave, pulled back the plastic, and stirred the gooey macaroni and cheese. He left the meal on the small dining table to cool and took a long, chug of his beer. The beer was a treat. Money was tight, but he'd decided to splurge. He'd gone shopping that afternoon and seen the six-pack. He couldn't resist. His nerves were frayed and a few beers would go a long way toward calming them.

Things had not gone his way lately. Disastrous was the word that came to mind. First the Drew house and then the girl at the mall. What next?

The blare of the TV cut through his reverie. The evening news was on.

"This is Ed Holmes with your local news. Our lead story tonight is the recent attack on Katie Nichols. Let's go to Trent Baker for the latest."

"This is Trent Baker reporting outside the River Heights Police Station. At this time, police say they have several leads and are investigating them. The police believe Katie Nichols' attacker is the same man who murdered Dawn Bedingfield. If you remember, Ed, she was also attacked in the River Heights Mall. Police Chief Logan issued a statement earlier today. He said, the police have assembled an experienced team of detectives to work this case. They've even brought in a detective from New York."

New York? the killer thought. Bayport, New York? No, that couldn't be. Or could it?

No, the local police probably just asked some New York detective to help out.

"Trent, can you tell us how Katie Nichols is doing and if she was able to give the police any information on her attacker?"

"Yes, Ed. According to hospital officials, Miss Nichols is in stable condition, but the police aren't releasing any information she might have given them. Police Chief Logan said – and I quote – we're playing this one close to the vest. We don't want the suspect privy to what we do or don't know."

He chugged more beer and snorted. What they do or don't know. Doubletalk for, we ain't got squat. We don't know a damn thing.

Out of the stale air came his mother's voice, _You did drop the necklace_.

The necklace. She would bring that up. One of his mistakes.

 _If you were smart you'd leave town, now_.

He slammed the beer on the table. "I have to stay till the end of the month. Can't you see that? I paid the rent. Gave 'em a deposit. They won't give the money back if I leave. And I need every penny as it is."

The TV caught his attention again. "Funeral services for Dawn Bedingfield will be held tomorrow at the River Heights Mortuary at five pm . . ."

They're burying one, why couldn't it be two, or three?

He finished the beer and tossed the can at the wall. Why? Why only one?

If he didn't have to work tonight, he would have another beer. Work. His job. His ticket out of town. This godforsaken town. He couldn't risk losing the job.

The mac and cheese was getting cold. He flopped into a chair and stirred it. He lifted a fork-full to his mouth and chewed. It had been a mistake to come here. To try and recreate the past. To attempt to relive that first time, that first kill. _His_ first kill.

 _I tried to warn you,_ his mother snipped in a superior tone.

He scowled and continued eating. She wasn't real. She was not here.

# # # #

Hannah was overjoyed when Nancy and her father emerged, arm-in-arm, from the study. Frank was right, Hannah thought, they do appear to be closer.

Frank entered the kitchen a second later. He was anxious to share what he'd learned. He told everyone about his father's notes. Carson Drew gave Frank the fax number and Frank disappeared into the living room to phone his father.

Hannah quickly surmised that the Drew household was in for a late night. She got to work making coffee and warming up a pot roast she'd prepared earlier in the day. Earlier, she had thought the roast would go to waste. Now, all was right with the world. Now, there was work to be done and Hannah hummed happily as she scurried around the kitchen.

# # # #

It took almost two hours to receive all of Fenton Hardy's notes. The last page tumbled out of the printer at seven pm.

"Got it," Frank said into his cellphone.

At the other end, Fenton Hardy relaxed. "That's the last one, Frank. Give me a call if you need help reading my chicken scratch. Don't worry about the time."

"Will do, dad. And give mom my love."

# # # #

Hannah served heaping plates of juicy roast beef along with potatoes and carrots. Coffee and tea stood ready on the counter. Nancy, Frank, and Carson Drew sat at the cozy kitchen table. They enjoyed the delicious meal as they skimmed through Fenton's notes.

Divide and conquer was the motto of the evening. Each person took a stack of papers to read. If something of interest was found, then that page would go in the center of the table to be analyzed later by the entire team.

Hannah kept the team supplied with food and drink. At one point, she brought out a lemon pie. That halted the investigation for a good fifteen minutes. But soon, it was back to work.

The hour grew late and Hannah cleared away the dirty dishes. She cleaned and tidied the kitchen. Finally, she poured herself a cup of tea and eased into the comfy chair by the bay window. Her favorite reading spot. Or a good place to view the garden during the day. Hannah sipped her tea and listened to the rustle of papers. The team had been at it for hours.

Three lonely sheets of paper lay in the center of the table. All three sheets contained one name. Donna Stein.

"Do you remember her?" Nancy waited for her father to answer.

Carson thought it over for a moment. "I do. As Fenton states in his notes, Donna was a co-worker of your mother's. They became good friends during the three months your mother worked at the elementary school."

"Mom worked as a part-time secretary, right?"

"That's right. Although your mother loved you dearly, she was ready to stretch her wings a bit. You had turned three and were showing signs of being fiercely independent. I can't count how many times you said, I can do it myself."

Nancy blushed. She still possessed that fierce independence.

"It seemed like a good time for your mother to consider a job. When she heard about the part-time position at the school, she decided to give it a try. It turned out to be a perfect fit. Your mom worked from twelve to four while another lady worked the morning shift from seven to twelve."

Frank leaned forward. "Who exactly was Donna Stein?"

"The school's full-time secretary," Mr. Drew said.

"Hannah was hired to watch me while mom was at work," Nancy added.

"Yes, and we have your mother to thank for finding and hiring Hannah. We couldn't have asked for anyone better." Mr. Drew smiled and winked at Hannah in the comfy chair.

Hannah gave a small nod. "And I could not have asked for a better family to work for. I've truly been blissed. May I ask, what's so important about Donna Stein?"

Frank answered, "She's the last person to see Mrs. Drew alive."

"Oh." Hannah seemed to shrink into the chair.

"We need to interview her again," Frank said.

Nancy nudged him with a shoulder. "Since you have to pick Joe up at the airport in the morning, I'll track down Donna Stein and set up an interview."

Frank yawned. "Okay. No arguments from me."

Hannah wiggled out of the chair and collected her teacup. "As of now, the kitchen is closed. It looks like you all could use a good night's sleep."

Everyone chuckled. It was indeed late, but progress had been made. Real progress.

Goodnight hugs were shared and everyone departed to their rooms. Nancy and Frank trudged up the stairs. When they came to the small landing between their rooms, Frank laid a hand on Nancy's arm.

"How you doing?" His eyes were dark and warm.

"I've been better," she admitted.

"Today had to be quite a shock. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"You know, I feel like today's the day I really lost my mother. I'm sure that sounds odd. It's been twenty years. But today's the day I finally grieved."

Tears threatened and she blinked them away.

He swept a lock of hair behind her ear. "I wish there was something I could do."

She leaned forward and his arms slipped around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. Her breath was hot and heavy against his chest. In his arms, she was safe from the world and all its troubles.

This is where I belong, she thought.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for the kind comments. Take care. :D_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 **The next morning, River Heights Police Station …**

Detective Rivera took a sip of coffee as he entered the office. Hagan was already seated at his desk. Mrs. Drew's old casefile was open in front of him.

Rivera spotted the file and said, "Got anything?"

Hagan pushed his reading glasses on top of his head. "The officers twenty years ago screwed up. Royally." Hagan gave Rivera all the disappointing details.

"How bad was the car banged up?"

"Just a dented front bumper. That should've been the detectives' first clue. The damage wasn't great enough to have killed her. A concussion, yes. Death, no."

Rivera eased a hip onto his desk. "The real question is, was she strangled before the car hit the tree or after?"

"That's not clear in the file or according to the medical report. But I have to wonder, who kills someone _after_ they've had a car accident? What? The killer just happens to be walking by, sees a car veer off the road and hit a tree, and instead of rendering assistance he walks up and kills the occupant? That's a little far-fetched."

"But not beyond the realm of possibilities."

Hagan pulled a face. "No, but still. It doesn't fit the killer's MO."

"If this was one of his first killings, he might not have developed an MO yet. He would have been a work-in-progress."

"True enough."

"If the killer didn't kill her after the accident, then he had to have killed her before it happened. The only way he could do that was to be in the car with her."

Hagan visibly cringed. "That's a chilling thought, Juan. That means he was strangling her while she drove."

Rivera nodded and sipped his coffee. "Not a pretty picture, is it?"

"No. Do you think it's possible she picked up a hitch-hiker?"

"What time of day did the accident occur?"

Hagan pushed some papers aside and found the one he wanted. He pulled his glasses down and peered through them. "Four-thirty pm. She was on her way home from work."

"What young mother picks up a hitch-hiker on her way home from work?"

Hagan laid his glasses on the desk. "The only person a young mother would pick up is someone she knew. Anyone else would've been risky."

"I agree. Which means, if the killer's in the car with her. She knew him, knew him well enough to give him a ride."

"She didn't see him as a threat," Hagan said.

"True." Rivera finished his coffee and placed the cup on the desk. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "By the way, Frank Hardy called me this morning. He's on his way to the airport to pick up his brother. He also told me about an interesting twist to this case. Seems, his father worked the case twenty years ago."

"I saw that in the file. Carson Drew hired him when the case went cold. Guy's name was …"

Rivera grinned and waited for Hagan to remember.

"Fenton Hardy." Hagan cracked a delighted smile. He was getting older, but his memory hadn't failed him.

Rivera smiled, too. "Fenton faxed all his old files to the Drew house last night. Frank and Nancy and Carson Drew spent most of the night going through them."

"They find anything?"

"One name, a Donna Stein. Nancy's tracking her down as we speak and hopes to interview her today. Donna Stein was the last person to see Elizabeth Drew alive."

"Donna Stein." Hagan peered at the papers on his desk. "I saw that name in the old casefile. She was a secretary at the elementary school where Elizabeth Drew worked."

"Good morning." Nancy stood in the doorway, a briefcase in her right hand and a handbag slung over her left shoulder. She held up the briefcase. "Fenton Hardy's old notes."

Rivera jutted his chin at his partner. "Hagan'll take those."

Nancy handed the briefcase to Hagan. Hagan wondered how she was doing. How she was _really_ doing after the shock of yesterday, but he didn't dare ask.

Rivera was braver. "How are you this morning, Miss Drew?"

She eyed him calmly. "Fine." And she answered the question he had not asked. "The fact this case now involves my mother only makes me more determined to solve it. I have an interview with Mrs. Donna Stein in two hours."

"Good. Very good." Rivera studied the young woman before him. She was composed and seemed ready to follow this case wherever it might lead.

Thirty minutes later, after a brief discussion with Rivera and Hagan, Nancy was in her car and on her way to Donna Stein's home. Rivera was headed to the hospital to interview Katie Nichols and Hagan was left alone in the office to read through Fenton Hardy's notes.

# # # #

 **The diner …**

Millie placed the coffeepot on the hotplate and looked over the half empty diner. Her mysterious customer had not shown up today. Actually, he had not shown up for the past three mornings. Millie pushed back her light brown hair and let out an audible sigh. She had not gotten a good look at his face. The one thing she'd so desperately wanted. He'd left so quickly that last morning with his head down and his shoulders hunched. Now, she wondered if she would ever get a chance to see his face. She had pegged him for a drifter and thought perhaps, he'd moved on.

The entrance bell chimed and Millie glanced at the door. Two clean cut, young men entered the diner. The taller one had to be six-one, Millie thought as she scooped dishes off a table. He was slender, had a nice, solid build and short, dark hair. The serious type, Millie surmised. A real intellectual.

The other man was an inch or so shorter and had a broader, heavier build. His vivid, blue eyes scanned the diner like he was looking for a threat. A bit jumpy, Millie thought as he smoothed back his wavy, blond hair and pointed at a booth.

Frank and Joe slid into a corner booth. Trish, one of the younger waitresses, gave Millie a questioning look. She wanted the booth although it rightfully belonged to Millie. Millie nodded her consent. Let Trish serve the young men. They would probably appreciate it as much as Trish.

Trish put on her brightest smile and greeted the young men.

Millie carried the dishes to the kitchen, her mind still on her mysterious customer. Seemed she couldn't get him out of her head today. She checked the kitchen window for her orders just as Trish came floating up all aglow.

Trish placed her orders on the counter for the cooks. "Why the long face, Millie?"

Millie pushed a pencil behind her ear. "My new customer hasn't been in for a while. There was something about him. He was kinda weird. I wanted a look at his face. If he doesn't come back, I'll never get the chance."

"Oh, he'll probably show up again."

Trish saw the blond man in the corner booth stand and look around. Then he walked toward Millie and Trish. Trish knew exactly what the man was looking for and pointed to the men's room. The man nodded his thanks and Trish turned back to Millie. "Why would you want to see him again? Like you said, he was weird."

Millie chuckled under her breath. "He was. But that only made him more interesting. Did you ever notice that he always wore that long coat and big, black hat? Why, if he didn't have that coat and hat on, I wouldn't even recognize him. He could be sitting out there right now and I wouldn't even know it."

Joe stopped dead in his tracks. Overcoat and hat. What were the chances? He pulled out his PI badge and approached Millie.

"Excuse me, miss." Joe eyed her nametag. "Miss Millie."

Millie backed up a step. "Yes?"

Joe extended a hand and she reluctantly shook it.

"I'm Joe Hardy, a PI currently working with the River Heights Police Department on the Dawn Bedingfield murder case. You just mentioned a man in a long coat and black hat."

"I did. I was talking about a customer of mine. He hasn't been in for a few days. He used to come in every morning like clockwork and order the same breakfast. But what's this got to do with that murder case?"

"Our suspect wears a long, dark coat and black hat."

Millie's eyes widened. "Are you suggesting I've been serving a killer his breakfast?"

"No," Joe said. "Obviously, I can't say that for sure, ma'am, but I'd like to speak with this man should he come in again." Joe pulled out a card and handed it to Millie. "My card with my name, my brother's name, and our phone numbers. We're both private investigators working the case. My brother's right over there." Joe motioned at Frank in the corner booth.

Frank stared at him with an expression of _what the hell is going on_.

Joe turned back to Millie. "Like I said, I'd really like to speak to this man. So, no matter what time of day or night it is, no matter where you are; if you see him again, please give us a call."

"Oh, okay." Millie thought her customer was weird, but a killer?

After Joe left, Trish, who had stood by listening, said, "Wow. Can you believe it, Millie? You might've been waiting on the killer? Well, you did say he was weird. Guess he was weirder than we ever imagined."

The youthful Trish seemed more thrilled than frightened at the prospect of a killer eating in their diner.

A few minutes later, Joe slid into the booth with a huge grin. "How long have I been in town, bro?"

Frank ignored Joe's question. "What's going on with you and the waitress?"

"My question first," Joe insisted. "How long have I been in town? An hour?"

"An hour and ten minutes."

Joe threw back his head and laughed. "You're so damn precise, Frank. Well, okay. An hour and ten minutes. And in that short time, notice I'm stressing the word short, I've come up with a clue. A very vital clue to our case. Now, remind me, who insisted we stop at this diner for breakfast?"

"It's the only diner on the way to the Police Station. Care to share your 'very vital clue' or would you prefer to gloat."

Joe glared at his brother. "You really are no fun."

"We're investigating a murder. This isn't supposed to be fun," Frank's voice was deadly serious.

"Okay, you got me there." Joe leaned forward. "According to Millie, the older waitress, a guy in a long coat and black hat has been eating breakfast here for the past week."

Frank's jaw dropped a little. "That's incredible. You think he's our guy?"

Joe shrugged. "I think it's a possibility."

Trish suddenly appeared. "Two orders of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. Can I get either of you anything else? How 'bout a refill on your coffee?" She flashed a radiant smile at Joe and only Joe. She'd made her choice. The blond. He was handsome and impetuous. Trish did not know what the word 'impetuous' meant. Millie had used it after Joe left. Millie had said, What an impetuous, young man. Wonder if he's right about my customer?

Joe looked up, smiled, and answered for both brothers, "No thanks, Trish. This looks great."

A disappointed Trish slinked away.

As soon as Trish was out of earshot Joe told Frank about his conversation with Millie.

The brothers finished their breakfast and cornered Millie. They asked her about her customer. She gave them a very thorough description of his coat and hat. She guessed him to be about six feet tall and perhaps slender given the way the coat hung from his shoulders. She thought his hair was dark, maybe black, based on the few strands that poked from beneath his hat. He'd kept his head down so she could not give a description of his eyes. But she thought his nose was long.

Unfortunately, she could not give a description of his vehicle. He had always walked to and from the diner. She had not seen the direction from which he came or the direction in which he went.

Frank and Joe thanked Millie for her time and information. Frank declared her an excellent witness and Joe reiterated the importance of calling should she spot the man again. Millie promised she would call.

The brothers exited the diner and stood on the curb, hands in their jacket pockets.

Joe surveyed their surroundings. A couple of seedy hotels to the right and a few rundown office buildings on the left.

Joe said, "If our killer walked to and from the diner every day, he must've stayed close by. Maybe at one of those hotels."

"I was thinking the same thing," Frank said. "How 'bout you take the hotel on the left and I'll take the one on the right. We'll meet back here when we're finished."

The brothers went their separate ways. Twenty minutes later, Frank strolled up to the rental car.

Joe was already there, leaning against the outside, his legs crossed at the ankles. His arms folded across his chest. "I struck out," Joe said. "How'd you do?"

"Our suspect stayed four nights at the hotel on the right. He signed in as John Smith and paid cash. No picture ID required and no address given. The hotel clerk was able to describe the coat and hat. It matched Millie's description perfectly. No luck on the car though. The clerk never saw him use one."

Joe blew out a breath. "What's next? Think he moved to a different hotel?"

"What's his usual mode of operation?" Frank asked, although he already knew the answer.

"If he stays in town, he finds a cheap week-to-week or month-to-month rental."

Frank nodded. "And we know he stayed in town because he showed up at the Drew's house and he attacked another woman, Katie Nichols. According to the hotel register, he checked out two days ago."

"That means he has a two day jump on us. Guess it's time to start checking all the cheap places to rent." Joe's voice lacked enthusiasm. The task would be time-consuming.

"You start checking online ads on your cellphone and I'll buy a newspaper," Frank said.

An hour later, the brothers were headed to their first stop. A week-by-week rental. Joe was at the wheel and Frank was on his phone. He was giving Rivera a status report. Rivera was pleased to hear about the conversations with Millie and the hotel clerk.

Rivera's news was not as good. His visit with Katie Nichols had not yielded any new clues. She had been attacked from behind and therefore, had not seen her attacker.

Rivera finished by saying, "Hagan and I are on our way to the local flower shops. We're hoping to find the one where our killer bought the rose. Maybe we'll get lucky and someone can give us a description of this guy. Oh, and Miss Drew located Donna Stein. She's on her way to interview Ms. Stein now."

"Glad to hear that." Frank smiled to himself. They were making progress.

"One more thing," Rivera said. "I'd like everyone to meet at the River Heights Mortuary at four-thirty. I'd like to show our full support, as a team, for the Bedingfields."

"Joe and I'll be there."

Frank ended the call. Their investigation had gained momentum. Things were looking up. Hopefully, they would catch this killer before he struck again.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you as always for the kind reviews. I apologize for all the typos in the first version of this chapter. I've cleaned up as many as I could find. It's always so difficult finding one's mistakes._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

At two minutes to one, Nancy was parked in front of a two-story townhouse in an upper middle-class neighborhood that catered to the fifty-five and over age bracket. She gathered her handbag and, at one o'clock on the dot, rang the doorbell.

A vibrant, white-haired woman of sixty-four opened the door and smiled warmly. "You must be Nancy Drew."

"Yes." Nancy nodded and smiled.

"I'm Donna Stein. Please, come in."

Nancy stepped over the threshold and Donna ushered her to a small, comfortable living room. A lovely tea service and a tray of cookies graced the coffee table.

"I must say I was quite surprised when you called this morning, Miss Drew. I retired two years ago from the school district so, I doubt I'll be of much help, but I'm happy to answer any question you have."

Donna Stein took a seat on the sofa and motioned Nancy into a cushy armchair. "I hope you like tea, it's English Breakfast."

"I do. Thank you."

Donna poured the tea while Nancy dug a notepad and pen out of her handbag. She placed them on her lap and set the handbag on the floor.

Donna Stein handed Nancy a steaming cup of tea. "Help yourself to sugar and cream and some cookies. I swear by them. They're one of my favorites, chocolate chips and pecans."

Nancy added cream to her tea and stirred. "This is very kind of you, Mrs. Stein. Especially on such short notice."

"Please, call me Donna. 'Mrs. Stein' sounds so formal."

"Okay, but only if you call me, Nancy."

"I think I can manage that." Donna smiled and gazed at Nancy over the rim of her cup. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you favor your mother. You have the same hair color and eyes."

"I don't mind at all. It's nice to hear. Sadly, I don't remember much about my mother."

"No, I suppose you don't. You were very young when … when it happened."

"Three years old."

"I didn't know her all that well myself. She was only at the school for three months. She was hired to replace Carol who was nine months pregnant. But I do remember your mother had a way about her, a gentleness you don't often see. Everyone liked her. She was fun and easy to work with. The children loved her, too. She was especially good with them. She had endless patience for their trials and tribulations."

Donna sipped her tea and relaxed into the sofa. "Your mother made quite an impression on me. She was one of those rare individuals who are genuinely altruistic. She put the needs of others before her own. The world desperately needs more people like that."

Nancy listened quietly, each word imprinted upon her heart.

Donna noticed Nancy's silence. "I hope I haven't upset you, Nancy. I didn't mean …"

"No, you haven't upset me. I appreciate hearing about my mother. I have so few memories of her. Thank you for sharing, for letting me know what she was like. It means a lot to me."

"Good, I was a little worried. I realize that isn't the purpose of your visit, but I thought you might enjoy a few insights."

"I did and I'd love to sit here and hear more, but as I mentioned on the phone, I'm investigating my mother's death. I'm hoping you have information that might lead me to her killer."

Donna winced slightly. "I honestly don't see how I can help. The police asked me questions twenty years ago and nothing came of it. I've always prayed that something new would come to light. Something that would solve this case."

Donna sipped her tea and considered her next words. "This has to be hard for you, Nancy. I can't imagine hunting your mother's . . . Well, I just want you to know that I think you're a very brave young lady."

Nancy lowered her gaze and studied her tea. "To be honest, it is difficult for me. But I plan to see this through." Nancy brought her head up and a fire lit her eyes. "I want to find the man who killed my mother. He ruined my life and several others. He must be stopped."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Donna's lips. "You possess the same quiet fortitude as your mother. I think this case is in good hands. After you called I got to thinking about the school and your mother and I dug through my old things. I found a picture. If you'll pardoned me, it's on the hall table." Donna sat her tea on the coffee table and hurried to the hall.

She returned with the picture and handed it to Nancy. It was a group shot, the entire elementary school staff taken twenty years ago. The colors had faded with time and Nancy smiled at the outdated hair styles and clothes. She searched the happy faces and found her mother in the second row on the right. Strawberry-gold hair spilled onto delicate shoulders. She was slim and pretty and all of twenty-five. Her whole life lay ahead of her … she had so much to live for. One senseless act had changed everything forever. Nancy pushed the thought away and concentrated on her mother's face. Her head was tilted slightly and her smile was serene. Nancy sensed an inner peace and happiness from the woman who was more stranger than mother to her.

"I've never seen this picture before," Nancy said.

"Then I'm glad I found it. I'd like you to have it."

"Thank you." Nancy ran a fingertip along the yellowed edge and her brow furrowed. An unpleasant thought occurred to her, one she and Rivera had discussed that morning. The possibility her mother had given someone a ride that fateful day. Someone she had known and trusted. Someone from work perhaps?

 _Your mother_ _was one of those rare individuals who are genuinely altruistic. She put the needs of others before her own._

Nancy's grip on the picture tightened and her jaw clenched like a vise. The picture took on new meaning and importance. The killer could be in this picture.

Donna saw that Nancy had grown pale and tense. "Nancy, what's wrong? You seem upset."

"I'm fine. Donna, can you name the four men in this picture and tell me their jobs?"

"I'll need my reading glasses. Excuse me while I get them."

Nancy had her notepad and pen ready when Donna returned. Donna sat beside Nancy and Nancy handed her the picture.

Donna held it up and squinted. Her finger touched a heavy, balding man in the first row. "That's Kenneth Wright. He was the principal. In the third row is Ed Hill. He taught second grade. He had the prettiest wife and the two cutest little girls. Of course, they're all grown up now." Donna's finger stopped on a tall, older man in the back row. "That's Manny Otero, the lead custodian. He retired a few years before I did."

Nancy wrote the three names on her pad. "Who's the man in the fourth row?"

"Aaron Wycock, he taught fifth grade. He was loads of fun, all the kids loved him."

Nancy wrote the name and 5th grade next to it. She considered the four names a minute and said, "How old would you say each man is today?"

Donna laid the picture on the coffee table and removed her eyeglasses. She rubbed her eyes and leaned against the back of the sofa. "Ken Wright was older than me. Ten years older, I think. He'd have to be seventy-four or so today. Same for Manny. He and Ken were about the same age."

Nancy put a line through each name. They were too old to be the killer.

Donna continued, "Aaron Wycock was a little younger than me. He might be fifty-eight or sixty now. Mind you, that's strictly a guess."

Nancy's pen hovered over the name. Cross it out or not? The age was a guess. He could be much younger.

"What's he doing now?" Nancy said.

"I don't know. He moved out of town years ago. Took a teaching position in another state, I think."

Nancy left the name untouched. "What about Ed Hill?"

"He still teaches at the school. And now, he has the two cutest granddaughters you've ever seen." Donna read the question in Nancy's eyes and smiled. "My friend, Ginger, is a teacher at the school. She keeps me up-to-date on all the latest news and gossip."

Nancy nodded and said, "How old would you say Ed Hill is?"

"Fifty-five? Certainly, not much older than that?"

"Does he travel a lot?"

"Practically every summer. He and his wife have gone on some wonderful cruises. I've seen the pictures on their Facebook page."

Again, Nancy's pen hovered over a name. Ed Hill traveled, but with a wife. Their killer traveled alone. Ed Hill met the age criteria, but he was happily married. It seemed unlikely he could travel up and down the east coast committing murders without his wife becoming suspicious.

Nancy was looking for a loner and, given the condition of the killer's car, someone who did not have a steady income. Ed Hill was gainfully employed and had worked at the same job for twenty years.

Nancy put a line through Ed Hill's name. That left only one name on the notepad. Aaron Wycock. Nancy flipped the page in her notepad until she found the one with a quickly scrawled question. Nancy had written the question this morning and it was the reason she was sitting with Donna Stein. It was the question she had come to ask.

"Donna, I'd like you to tell me everything you remember about the day my mother was killed."

Donna had expected the question, but still, it startled her. The story of that day was not strange or thrilling. Given what happened, one might expect that, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Truthfully, the story was mundane. A day like any other day. The police had questioned Donna about that afternoon. Had Elizabeth Drew shown any signs of mental problems? How else to explain a healthy, young woman driving off the road and into a tree? No, she had not. Donna had been emphatic about that.

Later, once the police knew Elizabeth had been strangled, the questions became unsavory. Was she seeing someone? Had she and her husband quarreled? Were there money problems?

Donna wondered if Nancy knew her father had been the prime suspect for a while. Donna would not bring it up. Somethings were better left unsaid.

"I'm ready anytime you are." Nancy's voice caused Donna to flinch.

"Sorry, dear. I was reminiscing."

Donna told the story exactly as she had twenty years ago. "Elizabeth arrived at work at noon. She worked from noon to four. She was pleasant and cheerful as usual. We did our work and chatted about small stuff. You know, the usual. It was a Friday and we were looking forward to the weekend. The principal, Mr. Wright, left at two. It was just your mother and me in the office. Around three-forty-five we started packing up. We shut down our computers and turned off the copy machine. Your mother locked the filing cabinets and then we left. I locked the office door and we walked to the parking lot. We'd just gotten to our cars when your mother realized she'd forgotten a book on her desk. It was a children's book. She'd checked it out of the school library that day and wanted to read it to you over the weekend. We said our good-byes and she went back to it. That was the last time I saw her."

Her mother had retrieved the book. It was found in her car along with her purse and wallet. The book. The book Nancy's mother never had the chance to read. It was a bitter thought.

Again, the possibility her mother had given someone a ride surfaced in her mind.

"Who would've been in the building when my mother returned?"

"The night custodians of course. Their shift started at three-thirty and ended at eleven-thirty. A few teachers would have been there. There were always a few teachers who stayed late."

"Can you name the teachers who stayed late that day?"

Donna stared blankly at Nancy. "No one's ever asked that question before."

They should have, Nancy thought.

"I can only guess at who might've been there."

"I'll make it easier. Is it possible Aaron Wycock stayed late that day?"

Donna frowned. "I'd only be guessing."

"A guess is good enough."  
Donna seemed unhappy about guessing, but gave her answer, "Yes, he could've been there. He was one of the ones who usually stayed later. He left his paperwork to the end of the week and then had to play catch-up."

"Was he married at the time?"

"No, he was a bachelor. He may have dated, but if he did, he didn't talk about it."

"One more question, did he have a car?"

"Yes, but it was an old clunker. He usually rode his bicycle to school. He was sort of a hippie type. He dressed in colorful shirts and sandals and had long hair he pulled into a ponytail."

"Thank you, that's very helpful." Nancy scribbled key points in her notepad.

Donna laid a hand on Nancy's forearm and said, "You haven't tried the cookies."

Wide-eyed, Nancy looked up from her notes. "Cookies?"

Donna tilted her head toward the cookies on the coffee table. "Chocolate and pecan. You simply must have one."

"Oh! The cookies." Nancy smiled and suddenly realized the older woman needed a break. "Yes, I'll take two and more tea."

Donna poured the tea and Nancy dished the cookies. They were heaven on a plate. Nancy asked for the name of the bakery and Donna told her. The two women relaxed and the conversation drifted onto general topics. Nancy told of her work as an amateur detective and Donna produced stories and pictures of her grandchildren. By the time the tea ran out and the cookie plate was empty, Nancy had developed a tender affection for Donna Stein.

The women carried the tea things to the kitchen and Nancy carefully washed the bone china. Donna dried the delicate pieces. As the women worked, Nancy's mind went back to the case and the picture. There were four men in the picture. Had only four men worked at the school then? It seemed unlikely. Also, there had to have been absences the day of the picture. Not every employee was present for whatever reason. Nancy needed to know who was _not_ in the picture.

She turned to Donna. "I've been thinking about the picture you gave me. I'd like you to look at it again. I need to know who's not in the picture. Men only."

Donna stopped drying the tea cups and a troubled frown wrinkled her forehead. "I'm almost afraid to ask … do you suspect someone at the school had something to do with your mother's … accident?"

"I think it's possible."

The women returned to the living room and sat on the sofa. Donna put on her reading glasses and picked up the picture. She stared at it for a good, long while. Finally, she laid it down in frustration and took off her glasses.

"I'm sorry, Nancy. It's been twenty years. I can't remember who was there and who wasn't."

Nancy reached out and patted Donna's hand. "It's okay. You tried. I've asked you a lot of questions today and you've been nice enough to answer them."

"I do want to help," Donna said.

"I know."

Nancy tapped her chin with an index finger. She needed to jog Donna's memory. Nancy thought back to her school days, about who worked at a school: teacher's aides, cafeteria workers, grounds keepers, and custodians …

 _Grounds keepers and custodians_. Those tended to be men.

Nancy decided to take this slow. Ease Donna into it.

"Donna, are the cafeteria workers in the picture?"

"No."

"How about the grounds keepers?"

"No, afraid not."

"I didn't think so. How about custodians? Manny wasn't the only one, was he?"

Donna smiled. This she knew. This she remembered. "Manny wasn't the only one. There were two day custodians, Manny and another man, and of course the two night custodians."

 _The two night custodians._ They would have in the building when Nancy's mother went back for the book. "What were the night custodians' names?"

"Give me a minute to think." Donna touched a hand to her forehead and cast her mind back. "Jim and Stan. They were there quite a while. Both were retired from other jobs when they came to work at the school. They both eventually retired from the school district, too. I believe Stan died of a heart attack a few years ago. I don't know what Jim's doing or if he's still alive."

Nancy was disappointed. Neither of these men could be the killer. One was dead and the other too old. She set her sights on the other custodians. "What about the day custodians, the ones that worked with Manny? Who worked with him when my mother was there?"

Donna chuckled. "If only I could remember. There were so many. Some lasted longer than others, but no one stayed long. I don't like to talk poorly of Manny, but he was tough to work for. He ran a very tight ship. He insisted on nothing but the best for the kids."

Nancy let out a small sigh.

Donna tried to cheer her up. "You could check with the district office. I'm sure they still have records of everyone who worked at the school."

Yes, they probably did, Nancy thought, but at the moment it didn't matter. No judge would grant her a court order to search the records. She didn't have enough evidence to warrant such a search.

"I'm sorry," Donna said.

"Don't be. You've been a big help."

Nancy glanced at her watch. Three-fifteen. She'd been at Donna's home over two hours.

"Goodness, it's getting late. I've taken up enough of your time and I have another appointment."

Nancy gathered her things; her handbag, the notepad and pen, and the picture. The wonderful, precious picture. If not for Fenton Hardy's notes, Nancy would not have discovered Donna Stein. And without Donna Stein, Nancy would not have the picture. She slipped it into her handbag. Something good had come of this visit. Something very good indeed.

At the door, Nancy hugged Donna and said, "If you remember any of the names of the day custodians, please, give me a call."

"If only there hadn't been so many," Donna sighed ruefully.

 _So many_. Therein lay the problem. Nancy had to narrow the field. She had to send Donna's mind traveling in the correct direction.

"The person I'm looking for," Nancy said, "would have been young. Early twenties. I'm also interested in his car or lack of one."

"His car?"

"Yes. If my theory is correct, his car wasn't reliable. It wouldn't surprise me if he occasionally asked coworkers for a ride. Does any of that ring a bell?"

Donna shook her head. "I'm afraid it doesn't. But I'll think on it."

"Please do. If you remember anything, anything at all, give me a call. You have my card."

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter was a bear to edit. My mind wasn't completely on the story as we're in the middle of a kitchen remodel. A steady stream of workers has flowed in and out of my house for the past week. I'll be happy when they're gone and my kitchen functions again. Another troubling thing occurred, too. I received a threatening review. I deleted it (and a nice review accidently), but this incident had me thinking about pulling this story, packing my bags, and riding off into the sunset. After much consideration, I decided to stick around. We'll see what happens. So, with that being said, thank you once again for the reviews._


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Nancy sped toward the River Heights Mortuary. Detective Rivera has asked the entire team to be there by four-thirty. They would exchange new information and ideas before attending Dawn Bedingfield's memorial service.

Nancy thought of what she had, a possible suspect, Aaron Wycock. He wasn't a strong suspect. His age was unknown and if it proved to be in the late fifties then he would be eliminated as a suspect. Nancy's would have confirm his age.

Her only other lead was the possibility a day custodian had been in the building when her mother returned. According to Donna Stein, the day custodians' shift ended at four pm. Nancy mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Donna Stein remembered some of their names. If not, Nancy would approach the school district's main office. The office might release the names without a warrant given the fact the information was twenty years old.

Nancy checked her watch. Ten minutes after four. She should arrive at the mortuary at exactly four-thirty. A little more speed and she might arrive a minute or two early. Nancy checked the sky. The weather had turned ominous. Dark, gray clouds stretched as far as the eye could see. A spring storm was building and rain was imminent. With any luck it would hold off until after the memorial service.

It was four-thirty when Nancy pulled into the mortuary's parking lot. Rivera, Hagan, Frank, and Joe were already there, waiting outside their cars. Nancy parked next to Frank's rental car. A few fat raindrops splattered her windshield as she opened the door. A blast of chilly air greeted her.

She reached across to the passenger's seat, grabbed her jacket, and climbed out of the car. Before she got a chance to slip on her jacket, Joe scooped her into a giant bear hug. Nancy laughed vivaciously. This greeting was in marked contrast to Frank's initial greeting. He had greeted her with cordial reserve. She knew Frank liked to keep his emotions in check. Nancy sometimes found it difficult to determine his mood. No such problem existed with Joe. He was outgoing and gregarious and his emotions were there for all to see. Nothing was left to doubt.

At the moment, a large smile lit his face. "How you doing, Drew?"

The smile suddenly faded and Nancy knew why. He was thinking of her mother's death and how this case might affect her.

She tossed her head and beamed a reassuring smile at him. "I'm fine. I'm glad you're here."

Joe leaned forward and kissed Nancy on the cheek. "Good to be working with you again, Nancy."

Rivera cleared his throat. "Ahem. Now that we're all here, let's share information. We'll start with you, Miss Drew."

Nancy gave a quick summary of her interview with Donna Stein. Hagan wrote the name Aaron Wycock in his notebook and promised to start a background check as soon as the memorial service was over.

Frank spoke next. He related the events of the morning in the diner. Nancy wondered if the killer really could have eaten there. It was an intriguing possibility. Surveillance of the diner was discussed and soundly dismissed by Rivera. The River Heights Police Department did not have the necessary manpower and at the moment, there wasn't enough justification. According to Millie, the witness, it appeared the killer had moved to a new location for his meals.

Joe said he and Frank had already checked several week-to-week and month-to-month rentals. So far, they had come up empty handed. No one matching the killer, that is, no one wearing a long coat and black the hat, had been reported.

Rivera was the last to share. "Hagan and I found the flower shop where our suspect bought the rose. _Rosie's Flowers_. The clerk remembered selling a guy in a long, dark overcoat and black hat a white rose. She remembered him because of the outfit and his demeanor. She thought he seemed a little suspicious. He avoided eye contact and acted nervous. She didn't get a good look at his face because he kept his head down. He paid in cash and she still had the receipt. She gave us a copy."

Rivera withdrew the receipt from his pocket and handed it to Nancy. "He purchased the rose the same day you were at the cemetery. Am I right?"

Nancy looked at the date on the receipt. She nodded and handed the paper back. "Yes, it's the same date."

"The clerk remembered he asked about the colors of roses, did they mean anything. She told him, red meant love, yellow meant friendship, and white meant innocence."

Innocence? Nancy flinched at the word as though she'd been struck. Well, her mother had certainly been innocent, an innocent victim.

The parking lot had begun to fill. Grim faced people exited cars and solemnly made their way to the mortuary.

Nancy saw her father and rushed to meet him. Frank, Joe, and the detectives followed. Nancy introduced her father to Detectives Rivera and Hagan. After some polite conversation, Mr. Drew invited Joe to stay at the Drew home. Joe thanked Mr. Drew for his generosity and accepted.

The rumble of thunder rippled overhead and the heavens burst open. Icy rain pelted the group and they dashed for the safety of the building.

# # # #

Dawn Bedingfield's memorial service was simple and poignant, a fitting tribute to a young woman whose life had been cut tragically short. Mr. Bedingfield sat, tearless and resolute, beside his sobbing wife. He cradled her heaving shoulders and tried to comfort her. It was a battle he would never win and knew it. He accepted it.

Dawn's younger brother and sister sat beside their parents and numbly endured their mother's heartbreaking cries. Occasionally, the daughter would lean over and pat her mother's arm or shoulder. It did not bring relief. Nothing, absolutely nothing could relieve the pain and grief Mrs. Bedingfield felt.

Lightning flashed outside the windows as the service came to a close. Thunder shook the building and a wave of unrest spread among those in attendance. People hastened to their feet, ready to offer condolences and hurry home before the storm broke.

Nancy and her father, and Frank and Joe joined the line of people waiting to say a few words of sorrow to the Bedingfield family. Rivera and Hagan excused themselves and headed back to the station. Hagan wanted to get the background check on Aaron Wycock underway. Nancy said she would let the Bedingfields know the investigation was going strong and a few leads had come to light. Rivera thanked her and wished everyone a happy weekend.

Nancy accomplished her mission with grace and poise. She was careful not to get the family's hopes too high, but she also did not shatter them either. Sharing information with the family was a delicate act. Information must be shared. It was important to determine what and how much. Nancy met the challenge admirably.

In the parking lot, her father complimented her as they stood in the drizzling rain.

"That wasn't easy, Nancy and I'm proud of you." He hugged his daughter tightly and kissed the top of her head. Then he turned to Frank and Joe. "What say, we get out of this rain. I'll treat everyone to dinner. Hannah's at a friend's this evening and I'm too tired to even think about cooking."

"That would make two of us," Nancy said. "I vote for dinner out."

Joe flashed a roguish smile. "Dinner out sounds good to me. I've never been one to turn down a free meal."

Frank snorted and turned up the collar of his jacket. "Truer words were never spoken."

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry, this chapter is a bit short. The next one is longer. Also thank you everyone for your encouraging words. I just want to clarify; the review was a threat against my life. That's why I took it more seriously and yes, I did try to report it. I discovered; anonymous reviews cannot be reported, but the writer can delete them. Which is what I did. Reviews from readers who are logged-in can never be deleted, but they can be reported for abuse._

 _Oh well, it's in the past now (I hope) and I'm moving on. Glad you folks are still reading and enjoying._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Trish Seaton fluffed her hair, checked her make-up, and added more eyeliner. She and her two best friends were going out tonight. Their typical Friday night movie at the mall. Trish couldn't wait to tell her friends about the two cute guys she'd served at the diner that morning. Just wait till Brandi and Celia heard they were detectives and working the Bedingfield case. And – hold your breath – the killer might actually have been eating at the diner, too.

It was all very exciting. Trish smiled at herself in the mirror as she brushed her long, blonde hair … made a little blonder with help from the store.

Trish wondered if those detective guys would come to the diner again. She licked her lips seductively. The blond guy was definitely her type. He seemed like fun, too, like he knew how to have a good time. Not too serious, yet nice and polite and the best part – he had a great job.

Impetuous. That's what Millie had called him. Trish said the word out loud. Im-pet-u-ous. She liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled around in her mouth and made her feel sophisticated. It had four whole syllables. Such a fun word and it fit the blond guy to a T.

Joe. His name was Joe. She remembered that now.

Trish stood back and admired herself in the mirror. Dressy, but not too dressy. Tight jeans and a tight cotton top. If only Joe could see her now. The extra layer of eyeliner made her hazel eyes stand out. Perfect, absolutely perfect. She slipped on a pair of low heels.

Yeah, Joe was the kind of guy she wanted. Someone with a steady income. Trish hadn't had the best luck with men in her short twenty-four years of life. She'd recently kicked another, in a long stream of unsatisfactory men, to the curb. Somehow trouble always cropped up with the guys she chose; drugs, alcohol, ex-girlfriends, or money problems.

Trish was tired of the lackluster men in her life. Maybe her luck was about to change. A girl could dream couldn't she?

The musical tones of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She checked the caller ID. "Hey, Brandi."

"Hey Trish. Celia and I are waiting at the mall. Where you at, girl?"

"Sorry, on my way. Leaving right now." Trish grabbed a jacket and headed out of her second-floor apartment. Raindrops splattered the wet concrete landing as she locked the door.

"You want Celia and me to go ahead and buy the movie tickets?"

"Yeah, that'll be great." Trish ran to her car, cellphone pressed to her ear. "Oh, and I have a lot to tell you guys. You're not going to believe what happened at the diner today."

"Fine, whatever, get a move on girl. You're gonna make us late for the movie," Brandi said.

"Okay, okay." Trish laughed. She didn't mind her friends ribbing. "I'm getting in the car now. See you in five minutes."

The movie ended at nine-thirty and three giddy, young women spilled out of the theater and into the mall.

Celia flipped back her long, jet-black hair. "What now? I'm not ready to call it a night."

Brandi batted her incredibly long eyelashes. "Let's check out Jay's Fashions. I hear they're having a sale this weekend."

Trish shrugged. "Fine by me."

The three friends wandered the mall and checked the upcoming sales without much enthusiasm. As they wandered, Trish talked incessantly about the two guys at the diner and the possibility of the killer eating there. Celia and Brandi were not nearly as impressed as Trish had hoped.

After thirty minutes of window shopping, Trisha said, "I'm hungry, let's go to the diner. Ruby's waitressing tonight, she'll let us eat for almost nothing."

Brandi gently elbowed her friend. "I know you. You think those guys might be there."

"Or the killer," Celia added dramatically.

"It is possible," Trish said a little defensively. "Anyway, I'm hungry. How 'bout it?"

"I wouldn't mind a piece of pie," Brandi admitted. Sweets were her downfall.

"Me, too," Celia said. "Or would that be, me three?"

# # # #

The women parked their cars in the diner's parking lot and made a mad dash through the pouring rain. Trish waved to Ruby as they entered the diner. The older woman nodded a greeting as the trio chose a table in her section. Ruby picked up a coffeepot and ambled over. Trish and her friends frequently stopped in on a Friday night especially when they were between boyfriends which appeared to be the case.

Celia leaned closer to Trish and whispered, "Is he here?"

"I can tell you, the two hot guys aren't here," Brandi deadpanned and they all laughed.

"Coffee ladies?" Ruby asked. All three women turned over their cups and said 'yes.' "What have you gals been up to tonight?"

"Not much Ruby," Trish said. "Just hanging out. We went to the movies and checked out the sales at the mall."

"There's not much to do in this town." Celia scrunched up her face liked she'd smelled something bad.

"That's good, keeps you young women out of trouble." Ruby glared at the dark-haired Celia. In Ruby's opinion, the young woman had had too many boyfriends. In Ruby's opinion, she needed to pick one, get married, and settle down.

"Yeah, but a girl likes to have a little fun once in a while," Celia countered.

Ruby decided further comments on the topic of what young ladies did for fun were better left unsaid. "You ladies know what you want to eat or you need a minute?"

They knew and ordered.

An hour later, the women stared at empty plates and half-empty coffee cups.

Brandi scraped the last tiny bit of cherry pie off her plate. "Well, it looks like we struck out. No cute guys and no killer. This place is dead." She licked the bit of pie off her fork.

Celia pushed away her half-eaten slice of pie. "I'm ready to call it a night."

Trish felt defeated. "We knew it was a long shot."

Celia grabbed her purse and stood. "I'm going to the bathroom and then we can leave."

The bell over the door chimed and a dark figure walked in. Celia promptly sat down. Trish and Brandi's backs were to the door. They had not seen who entered.

Brandi said, "You look funny, Ceel. What's wrong?"

Trish started to turn around, but Celia grabbed her hand.

"Don't. Don't turn around," Celia whispered. "I think it's _him_."

"Who?" Brandi whispered.

" _Him!_ " Celia's eyes bulged.

"The killer?" Trish mouthed.

Celia nodded.

Ruby greeted the customer. "Sit wherever you want I'll be right with you, sir."

Celia eyes followed the customer.

"Where's he sitting?" Trish asked in a low voice.

Celia answered with her eyes and a slight tilt of her head.

"A booth along the back wall?" Trish asked. Could it be? Was it him?

"Yep."

Trish couldn't believe it. "According to Millie that's where he always sits. What's he wearing?"

Ruby waited on the customer as Celia described his clothing, "Long, black coat and big black hat. He just took it off and laid it on the bench. Eww." Celia made a face. "He's combing his hair with his hands. His hair's disgusting. Doesn't look like he's washed it in forever."

"What color's his hair?" Trish beamed. Fortune had finally smiled on her. She would get information about the killer tonight and give it to Joe tomorrow. Yes, she would have to meet with Joe. She would ask Millie for his phone number first thing in the morning. Wouldn't that surprise Millie?

Celia sipped her cold coffee and surreptitiously spied on the man in the booth. "Hard to say. It mighta been black at one time. Looks kinda grayish-black now. It's really greasy."

Ruby appeared with a coffeepot. "You ladies want anything else? More coffee? Or are you calling it a night?"

Trish pushed her cup closer to Ruby. "More coffee for me, please."

"Me too," Brandi said, "and a grilled cheese sandwich."

Ruby frowned at Brandi. "You just had pie."

"I'm still hungry." Brandi shrugged and held out her hands.

Ruby poured the coffee and hurried off to place the order. Considering how long the girls had stayed, Ruby hoped they would leave a decent tip.

"What's he doing now?" Trish asked Celia.

"Drinking his coffee. I'm going to the bathroom. I'll try and get a good look at his face on the way back."

"Be careful," Brandi warned.

Celia rolled her eyes. "No kidding. But really, what's he going to do, stab me here in the dinner? Besides, this might not be _the guy_. We're just guessing."

"I'll go with you," Trish said. "I've seen him before. I'll know if it's him."

The two women rose and strolled to the bathroom.

Brandi was eating her grilled cheese sandwich when Trish and Celia returned.

"Well?" Brandi asked as her friends slid into the booth.

"It's him," Trish confirmed. Her eyes flickered with excitement.

"No way. You sure?"

Trish hedged a bit, "I'm pretty sure."

"Pretty sure." Unimpressed, Brandi took another bite of her sandwich.

"I think he's leaving," Celia whispered. "He's putting on his hat. He's standing. He's putting money on the table."

"We have to follow him," Trish said in a panic.

"Follow him?" Celia couldn't believe her ears. "Are you crazy? We're not detectives."

But I want to be one, Trish thought. And tonight I can. Tonight, opportunity stared her in the face.

"Calm down," Celia said. "He's heading to the bathroom."

Trish relaxed.

Brandi wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You're not even sure this is the guy Millie saw. Really, what are the chances the three of us ran into the killer?"

"He's wearing exactly what Millie said." Trish was defensive. She had thought her friends would want to follow the man, that they would be as excited as she was. She saw now, they doubted her.

"I'm going to follow him," she announced. She tore a ten dollar bill from her purse and tossed it on the table.

Celia grabbed her friend's hand. "He's creepy. You don't want to follow him."

Trish pulled her hand away. "Yes, I do. This is the most exciting thing that's happened in this town and to me."

"What if he notices you're following him? Then what?" Celia said.

"Simple, I'll stop following him." Trish slipped on her jacket. "I'm leaving. I want to be in my car before he leaves the diner. That way I can pull out right behind him. He won't even know I'm there."

"I think you're off on a wild goose chase," Brandi said.

"Beats sitting around here," Trish countered.

Celia saw the tension between Brandi and Trish. Celia had to defuse it. She couldn't have her two best friends mad at each other. She nudged Brandi and made eye contact. They needed to show support for Trish. Brandi understood and nodded.

Celia turned to Trish. "Brandi and I are here for you. You're going to call us every ten minutes and tell us where you are. If you get into any trouble we'll come running. Okay?"

Trish smiled. "Good plan. You're my backup team."

Trish waved to Ruby and hurried out of the diner and into the cold, damp night. The rain had stopped and the skies were clearing. A crescent moon peeked from behind a cloud. Trish made it to her car and was safely locked inside, key in the ignition, when _he_ came out of the diner.

She watched as _he_ got into an old brown, dented, and rusted, car. She turned the key in her blue Toyota Corolla and discreetly followed _him_ out of the parking lot.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you all again for the support and words of encouragement. I always appreciate your reviews and the fact you like my writing. Over the years I've tried hard to improve my writing. Anyway, thanks again for reading and reviewing. :) I enjoy the feedback._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

He leisurely cruised the streets and scanned the sidewalks. No one was out tonight thanks to the rain. After work he hadn't wanted to go straight home and instead had stopped at the diner. The cold and the rain had seeped into his bones and a hot cup of coffee had sounded inviting. The diner made good pie and he had enjoyed both. Coffee and pie. He was a man who took great delight in what others would consider small pleasures.

Nobody out tonight. Disappointment washed over him. He couldn't face another night in his studio apartment listening to his mother harp. Her relentless tirades were pushing him closer to the edge. One of these days he would snap.

He slammed a fist against the steering wheel. Damn it! Why couldn't she just go away for good? She was dead for Christ's sakes. You'd think that would be the end of her, but noooooo! Somehow she still lived – in his mind.

It was all in his mind.

 _It's all in your head_ , a voice chided him. _You could get rid of her if you really wanted to. You just don't want to._

"Yeah, right." He sneered at the imaginary voice as he came to a stoplight.

A car pulled up behind him and he gave it a cursory glance. A young blonde woman was behind the wheel talking on her cell phone.

"Hmm," he mused, "someone _is_ out tonight." The light turned green and he eased forward. "I wonder where she's headed at this time of night?"

# # # #

"Celia, Brandi?" Trish said into her cell phone.

"Yeah," Celia answered. She and Brandi were still at the diner, sitting side-by-side listening to Trish on the phone.

"I'm right behind him." Trish strained to read the street signs. "We just went through a stoplight at 5th and Lincoln."

"Does he know you're following him?"

"I don't think so. He's just been driving around."

"Um, that might mean he knows you're following him," Celia warned.

"Okay, I'm putting more distance between us. He just went through a light and I'm hanging back. I'm going real slow now."

"Good, that makes me feel better. Trish, I really think you should call this off and go home."

"No way, I'm too close now." She couldn't stop now. Heavens no. She had to get the killer's address, if in fact he was the killer. Trish rather doubted he was and as Brandi had said, what were the chances that they, the three of them, would run into the _real_ killer? Zero to none. This was probably a wild, wild goose chase, but Trish was determined to see it through.

She had to get the address and give it to Joe. That was the real reason behind this late night cloak and dagger stuff. With the address Joe would have to talk to her face-to-face. He'd need all the facts, he'd have to ask her questions, too. That would certainly bring her closer to him.

Oh, she needed to speed up a little he was getting too far ahead of her.

He turned down a side street and a minute later Trish did the same. She followed the red glow of his taillights.

"Trish, where are you now?" Celia asked.

"Umm, the not-so-good part of town," Trish reluctantly admitted. A sliver of fear pricked her spine. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe she should turn around.

"You need to go home, Trish. What if your car breaks down? You'd be stuck in the bad part of town."

"Well, you guys would come and get me."

"Yeah, but that would take a while. You'd be sitting there all alone until we got there."

"Oh, I think he's turning into an apartment complex."

"What? Where? What's the name of it?"

"I don't know. I can't see a sign. It's dark here. They don't have many outside lights on the buildings. I've parked a little ways down the street from the complex's parking lot. I can just barely see his car. I'm going to get out and follow him. Maybe I can find the sign for this place."

"Trish! No! We can go there tomorrow together and find the damn sign." Celia couldn't believe Trish was going to follow this stranger. This creepy, weird stranger with the greasy hair.

"I'm here, I might as well find out which apartment he lives in and the name of the place. The detectives will want to know that." Trish slid out of her car.

"Trish, it's not safe. You're scaring Brandi and me."

"I'm fine." Her friends' fear had suddenly given Trish courage. She'd show them. She could do this.

Ever-so-gently she shut the car door and pressed the lock button on the key remote. A sharp beep sounded in the dense night. Trish hoped he hadn't heard it.

"Trish, Brandi wants to know if you got his license plate number."

"I did. I memorized it."

"Good. Brandi says that's all the detectives need. They can find out where he lives from that."

"What if he gave a fake address?"

Celia had nothing to say to that.

"Listen," Trish said, "I can't talk to you guys anymore. I have to be real quiet so I can follow him. He's heading to a building."

Trish ended the call and dropped the phone into her jacket pocket.

# # # #

"She hung up on me," Celia said.

Brandi's mouth fell open in dismay.

"What should we do?" Celia asked.

Ruby appeared beside the table and scooped up the empty coffee cups. "In my opinion, you should call it a night and head home. We close in fifteen minutes."

"You're right, Ruby." Celia grabbed her purse, withdrew some money, and left it on the table. Brandi did the same.

"Good night, ladies," Ruby said. "Thanks for the tip. Drive safe."

Ruby headed to the kitchen with the coffee cups. The sooner the tables were clean the sooner she went home.

"What time is it?" Celia asked when they were in Brandi's car.

Brandi started the engine and the dashboard clock lit up. "Eleven-fifty."

Celia shook her head. "I don't like this. I don't like Trish following that weirdo. If we haven't heard from her by twelve-fifteen we're calling her whether she likes it or not."

Brandi maneuvered the car onto the main thoroughfare. "What if she doesn't answer? She said she had to be quiet. What if she's turned her phone off?"

Celia cringed at the thought. "God, she probably did."

"Think we're getting all worried about nothing?"

"Maybe. But it's never a good idea to follow a weirdo in the middle of the night."

"She's doing this to impress that detective guy. What's his name?"

"Joe. And this is one of the dumbest thing she's done to impress a guy. When's she going to learn to just be herself?"

Brandi didn't have an answer for that. Hadn't they all done dumb things to impress a guy? But then again, this had to be the dumbest. It was in the top ten at least.

The women fell silent as they drove to Celia's apartment. Both prayed Trish would call before twelve-fifteen.

# # # #

Trish crept along the pavement in a crouch. She kept to the side of the road as she headed in the direction of the apartment complex. Tall bushes and weeds hugged the edge of the road. Trish scampered from bush to bush as she watched _him_ walk through the parking lot. Which building would he go to? There were three to choose from. Three two-story buildings all in a row. All had seen better days. Peeling paint, cracked window panes, and torn widow screens spoke of years of neglect.

Behind the buildings rose a forest of tall pines. Junipers shrubs, the height of a man, dotted the complex grounds and cast deep shadows in the moonlight.

Plenty of places to hide, Trish thought and dashed for a shrub.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, but Trish didn't notice.

"Crap!" she hissed to herself. The ground was soaked from the rain. The heels of her shoes sank into the mud and she scowled. A brand new pair of shoes ruined for a night of sleuthing. She yanked her feet out of the sticky mud and moved a few steps to a grassy spot.

She pushed wet branches aside and searched for the man. Cold water dripped on her jeans and shoes and she mentally grumbled. Was this the life of a detective? Ruining clothes and shoes?

"Not as glamorous as I thought," she whispered to the wet shrub.

She scanned the parking lot for her quarry. Where the heck was he? Her eyes swept over the buildings, grounds, and sidewalks. She still couldn't find him.

He must have gone inside and she'd missed him. How did he get inside so fast?

She took one last look around. The night was chilly and her hands were cold from holding the wet branches. Celia and Brandi were right. This was a wild goose chase.

Trish released the branches. She would go home and lick her wounds. Change into her warm bathrobe and heat some hot chocolate. Just what she needed after this adventure or misadventure.

She took a step back and froze. The squish of a footstep on wet grass a few feet away paralyzed her. The human body is instinctively honed to sense danger and Trish sensed it now, acutely. Fear heightened her senses. Every nerve, every fiber came to life. Their one and only purpose; find the danger.

She stood stock-still and listened, listened to the sounds of the night. The chirp of crickets. Muffled voices from an apartment window.

She strained an ear for the sound of a footstep. She waited anxiously, barely breathing.

Nothing.

She relaxed a little. Let out the breath she'd been holding. Her car. It was a good distance away. Not really that far, she told herself. Not far if you ran.

She would run to the car, get inside and lock the doors. Then she would be safe. The car offered safety and protection. It would take her home to the warm robe and hot chocolate. And she desperately wanted to go home.

She turned to run and her eyes widened in terror. A crazed face loomed over her. She saw the club raised in the air and her lips parted to scream. A strangled gasp escaped her mouth. Her throat constricted and cut off her breath. She couldn't think or move. Her eyes were riveted on the club.

Finally, her brain responded to the threat. Run, it screamed. She started to move, but it was too late. The club came down on her head and with a sickening thud she fell to the damp ground.

# # # #

Brandi and Celia were in Celia's living room sitting on her small sofa. The TV was on, but neither were watching it. Its only purpose was background noise.

Brandi's legs were crossed and one leg pumped nervously as she watched the clock on the wall.

"It's twelve-fifteen," Brandi said. "You said we'd call if we hadn't heard from her."

Celia was pressed into the corner of the sofa, her legs tugged under her. "I'm calling." She punched buttons on her cell phone and brought it to her ear.

Brandi's leg kept pumping. It was an old habit that surfaced when she was anxious or nervous. Tonight she was both. After several long seconds she said, "Well?"

"It just goes to voicemail. She must've turned off her phone."

Brandi frowned and her leg stopped pumping. "I don't like this. Leave her a voicemail. Tell her we're pissed and worried and she better call us the minute she gets the voicemail."

Celia punched buttons on her phone.

Brandi watched another minute pass on the wall clock. "I'll be so mad if we find out she's been messing with us."

Celia spoke into her phone, "Hey, Brandi and me are worried. Where the hell are you? You better call us in thirty minutes or … or we're going to call the police. This isn't funny."

Celia dropped her phone on her lap.

Brandi tipped her head. "We're going to call the police? She'll never believe that."

"I couldn't think of anything else to say."

"You shoulda told her we're pissed because we are."

"I'm worried about her. If she doesn't call in thirty minutes maybe we should call the police."

"Call the police? Doesn't a person have to be missing twenty-four hours before you call the police?"

"There's a killer running around town. I don't think the police are going to worry about the twenty-four hours. Not if we're reporting a missing woman."

Brandi's leg started pumping again. "You're probably right. How long should we wait before we call the police? An hour? Two?"

Celia stretched her legs and stood. "We'll give her thirty minutes, see if she calls. If she doesn't …"

"We'll leave another voicemail. If she doesn't call after that, we'll call the police."

Celia took a deep breath and hugged herself. "Okay. That gives her one hour to call us."

Both women turned to the wall clock. It read twelve-twenty-five.

* * *

 _A/N: Many, many thanks to those who have reviewed. And for the record, I don't mind guest reviews so don't feel bad. Read and enjoy (hopefully). Cheers!_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Nancy awoke to a persistent tapping on her bedroom door.

"Nan? You up?"

Frank, Nancy realized as she sat up in bed. A glance at her bedside clock told her it was six a.m.

Nancy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her robe.

"She up yet?" Joe's voice. "Usually it's me you have trouble getting out of bed in the morning."

"I know."

Nancy poked her head around her door. "Why are you two up so early? I thought we agreed to sleep in. It's Saturday."

"Duty calls," Joe said.

Nancy noticed the brothers were dressed in jeans and t-shirts.

"Rivera called," Frank said. "A girl's missing. Her friends are at the station. They mentioned Joe's name so Rivera asked us to come down and speak with them."

"I'll be ready in ten minutes." Nancy shut her door.

"We'll be downstairs," Frank said to the door.

The brothers entered the kitchen. Hannah had a large pot of coffee ready on the counter. Mugs, spoons, cream, and sugar were set-up next to the steaming coffeepot. A tray of buttered toast, sliced cheeses, and baked ham sat in the center of the kitchen table.

Hannah added plates and napkins to the table and said, "It's not much, but I wanted you have something to eat. You never know how long you'll be at the station or when you'll get lunch. Help yourselves. It's self-serve."

Joe needed no further encouragement. He made a sandwich of toast, ham, and cheddar cheese. By the time Nancy arrived he was on his second sandwich.

Mr. Drew entered the kitchen wearing his pajamas and robe. "What's everyone doing up this early on a Saturday?"

Nancy poured herself some coffee and added cream and sugar.

Frank answered Mr. Drew's question. "A girl's been reported missing. We're headed to the station to question her friends."

Mr. Drew grabbed a mug from the counter and poured himself coffee. "That's not good news. I hope she's found safe and sound."

"Me, too." Frank bit into a ham and cheese sandwich.

"Have something to eat," Hannah encouraged Nancy.

"I'm not hungry." Nancy carefully sipped her steaming coffee.

"I thought you might say that." Hannah placed a lunchbox on the table next to Nancy. "I made you a sandwich to take to the station. I know you, you'll get hungry later and wish you'd eaten."

Nancy smiled up at her dear, sweet housekeeper. It was the same smile that had won the housekeeper's heart twenty years ago. "Thanks, Hannah. You're a life-saver."

Frank finished his sandwich, drained the last of his coffee, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm ready whenever you guys are."

Joe shoved the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and mumbled, "I'm ready."

Nancy looked from one brother to the other and then at her coffee. Half-empty or half-full depending on your point of view. Nancy chose half-empty. "I'm ready, too. All I need is my jacket."

The three young people said good-bye and quickly departed. The kitchen suddenly felt very empty and quiet. Hannah reached for a coffee mug.

Mr. Drew, sitting at the table, said, "Hannah, is there any more toast?"

"More? Why there's a whole —" Hannah turned and her eyes fell upon the empty tray in the center of the table. "Well, there _was_ a whole tray of food there." She picked up the crumb splattered tray and examined it. "Goodness, those Hardys can put the food away. I'm going to have to do some serious grocery shopping today."

Carson Drew chuckled and sipped his coffee.

# # # #

Detective Rivera met Nancy and the Hardys at the entrance to the police station. He motioned them down the hall.

Rivera talked as he walked. "Missing girl's Trish Seaton. Age twenty-four. Last seen eleven-fifteen last night leaving _Andy's Diner_. Her friends reported her missing at four this morning. According to them she left the diner and followed a man she thought might be our killer."

" _Andy's Diner_?" Joe said. "Frank and I had breakfast there yesterday."

Frank cocked his head. "Wasn't our waitress named Trish?"

"Yeah, she was. Why in the world would she follow someone she thought was a killer?"

Rivera spoke over his shoulders, "Her friends say she wanted to find out where the killer lived. She wanted to give that information to Joe. Ahem, and I quote – the cute guy working the case."

Joe paled slightly. "Hope she's okay."

"We all do," Rivera said as they entered the office.

Hagan stood at his desk. Mugshots were spread across the top of the desk.

Nancy stepped closer and peered at the photos. "Aaron Wycock?"

"In the flesh," Hagan said. "He left the teaching field about twenty years ago and has drifted from place to place since then. Seems he went from teaching to custodial work. Mr. Wycock also likes to change his name when he changes towns. Makes him a little harder to track, but not impossible."

Frank picked up one of the photos. "How old are these?"

"Ten years," Hagan said. "Wycock wrote a series of bad checks ten years ago and serviced time for that."

Frank laid the photo back on the desk. "Anything more serious than bad checks?"

"Haven't found anything yet," Hagan said. "But we're still looking."

Nancy fingered one of the photos. "How old is Wycock now?"

"Fifty-five," Hagan said.

Nancy thought that was a bit old to be their killer.

Rivera brought his hands together. "Okay team, we have a viable suspect and two young ladies waiting to be questioned. I briefly spoke with each earlier this morning. Now it's time for in-depth interviews. Nancy and Frank; you're with me. We'll be questioning Celia Acuna. Joe and Hagan, you're questioning Brandi Meadows.

"Team, we need to know everything these girls saw and did last night from the time they entered _Andy's Diner_ until they called the station. Miss Acuna claims she got a good look at the suspect. Hopefully, she can give us a detailed description of him. I've got a police sketch artist standing by. Lastly, we'll show Miss Acuna the mugshots. If she picks him out, great."

Rivera turned to his partner. "Hagan, you and Joe do the same. Description first, then show the mugshots."

Hagan handed Frank copies of the mugshots. Six photos in a set, known in police slang as a six-pack.

Nancy's phone buzzed as she dug in her handbag for her notepad and pen. She checked the caller ID and nudged Frank. "It's Donna Stein. I have to answer. She might've remembered something."

Rivera said, "Take the call, Miss Drew. Frank and I'll start the interview without you. Join us when you're finished."

Nancy nodded her thanks and answered her phone. Donna Stein had indeed remembered something … several somethings … and someone.

It had come to Donna as she'd lain in bed last night trying to read a book. Instead of focusing on the pages, her mind had gone to the past, to her time at the elementary school. And that's when she remembered, remembered quite vividly, that Aaron Wycock had asked for rides.

He rode a ratty bicycle to work almost every day, even in the winter. So what did he expect? A day that started sunny could turn to rain or snow. When that happened he asked coworkers for a ride home.

He'd even asked Donna once. She remembered how she wouldn't allow his bike in the trunk of her car. Wycock had not been happy, but acquiesced. The next day he drove a ratty, old car to work.

Nancy thanked Donna for this information and then Donna surprised her with more. With someone she'd forgotten until last night. Ray Gordon.

"How could I forget him or his mother?" Donna said.

Ray's mother had worked at the school for years as a custodian. Health issues had forced her to retire early and not long after that Ray got a job at the school as a custodian. A daytime custodian. Ray had worked with the notoriously difficult Manny and, like others, Ray didn't last long. Maybe a year Donna thought.

And yes, Ray had had an old wreck of a car which explained why he frequently walked to and from work. Just like Aaron Wycock, Ray looked for a ride home on rainy days.

Occasionally, his mother picked him up, but those times were few and far between. The mother's health deteriorated rapidly and soon she couldn't drive at all.

"Not to mention," Donna said, "she was a most unpleasant woman. Really dreadful. There were no silver linings in her life and she liked to remind people of it. If she wasn't complaining about her job, she was complaining about her dead husband or her worthless son. That's how she described him. Worthless.

Nancy asked for a description of Ray Gordon.

"Oh dear, let me think. Tallish. Six foot, maybe. It's so hard to remember. It was so long ago. Of course, you understand that."

Yes, Nancy understood. "Do the best you can," she said.

"He was on the thin side. But then most young men are. He was in his twenties and I believe his hair was dark and long. Shoulder length. He wore it in a ponytail sometimes. I wondered if he did that because Mr. Wycock had a ponytail and he thought that was kind of cool or something."

"Color of eyes?" Nancy asked.

"I honestly couldn't say."

"Any prominent facial features? Nose, eyes, ears. Maybe a scar, or marks, or missing teeth?"

Donna thought it over. "I don't remember any scars or such and I can't remember his teeth. I don't think he ever smiled."

"If I find a mugshot would you be willing to come to the station and look at it?"

"A mugshot? Do you think he's been arrested?"

"I think it's a possibility. Would you be willing to view several mugshots?" Nancy was thinking of Aaron Wycock's shots. She would like Donna to view those.

"Yes. I'd be willing to do that."

# # # #

Nancy would not be joining Miss Acuna's interview. This new information warranted a visit with Chief Logan. Nancy went straight to his office. Logan listened to Nancy's news and then made a phone call.

When he hung up he said, "We're headed to the second floor, Nancy."

Chief Logan led Nancy to a small office on the second floor. He introduced Nancy to a young, nice looking detective currently searching databases for information on Aaron Wycock.

Logan told the young detective that he and Nancy were now searching databases for information on Ray Gordon. The detective smiled at Nancy and she smiled back.

Forty-five minutes later, they hit the jackpot. Ten years ago Ray Gordon had served five years for attempted rape and assault.

The young detective, Lansing, printed out the file and mugshots.

Nancy standing beside young Lansing, said, "Gordon hasn't been in the system since then. I find that odd."

Lansing flashed a killer grin and said, "Doesn't necessarily mean he's been behaving himself. He's probably gotten better at what he does and hasn't been caught again."

Nancy beamed at Lansing with admiration. "You're absolutely right. This time we're going to catch."

# # # #

Nancy held Ray Gordon's mugshots in her hand. His age, forty-two, fit the profile of their killer. His conviction for rape, however, did not. None of the twenty or so victims had been sexually assaulted. It gave Nancy a moment of pause.

Ray Gordon looked like a thousand other men. Nothing set him apart from the general population. No scars or marks stood out. No lisp or limp. He was as common as one could be.

Nancy took the mugshots to the interrogation rooms. Miss Celia Acuna gave a weak – very weak – positive ID of the photos.

"The guy I saw was older than that," she said rather aggressively.

"Yes," Nancy said forcing her voice to remain calm, "he would be. This photo is over ten years old."

Celia crossed her arms and glared at the detectives. "Well, how am I supposed to ID someone from an old photo?"

Frank added in a soothing tone, "We just ask that you try."

# # # #

Brandi Meadows did no better. Worse in fact. She couldn't say one way or the other if it was the same man. She could only describe what he wore. River dismissed both women and assembled the team in their office.

It was approaching noon on what promised to be a hot day. Rivera wanted the latest updates and suggestions.

Hagan said, "I've got two uniforms headed to Miss Seaton's apartment with a search warrant. There's an APB out on her blue Toyota Corolla and an APB out for any male in a black coat and hat."

Rivera ran a hand over the back of his neck and shook his head. If only they had something more on the killer.

Joe picked up his jacket. "I'd like to drive to the intersection of 5th Street and Lincoln, Miss Seaton's last known location. Her friends said she was at a rundown apartment complex not far from there. I'd like to scout around and see if I can find it."

Frank exchanged glances with Nancy and said, "Nancy and I will join you. Three sets of eyes are better than one."

"I like it," Rivera said. "Take mugshots of Gordon and Wycock. Show them to apartment managers and residents. Maybe we'll get a hit."

Hagan took a seat at his desk. "Miss Meadows said the waitress on duty last night at _Andy's Diner_ was Ruby. Miss Meadows doesn't know Ruby last name, but said Ruby waited on the man. She, of all people, should be able to ID him. I'll call the diner, get Ruby's name and phone number, and set up an interview."

"Sounds good." This was the best news Rivera had heard all morning. "I'll check with the detectives upstairs and see if they have anything more on Gordon or Wycock." His eyes swept his team, one face at a time. "We're moving in the right direction. I can feel it. Everyone, keep me posted on your whereabouts and progress."

* * *

 _A/N: So a slightly longer delay than usual in posting, but I have new cabinets and floor tile in my kitchen._

 _Thanks to all who read and review and to those who just read._


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

It was almost noon when he rolled out of bed. For the first time in weeks he'd slept soundly. The nightly voices that had plagued his sleep were gone. Leisurely, he stretched and rubbed his eyes. It felt good to start the day fresh and rested. He grabbed an old thin t-shirt and slipped it over his head.

What were the chances the girl had been found? He hadn't hidden her body and car any place special and a lone car wouldn't raise red flags for a day or so.

The girl had been with friends at the diner. Had they noticed her absence yet? The way young people texted and phoned each other these days, he felt it a strong possibility someone had noticed the girl's absence. Had either friend called the police?

He picked up the TV remote and pressed the ON button.

A commercial blasted from the TV and he turned down the volume.

It was a few minutes before the top of the hour and the daily news show. That gave him time to start the coffeemaker and fry some eggs.

Could life be any more perfect, he wondered as he filled the coffee filter with dark aromatic coffee grounds, nothing expensive of course, but even cheap coffee smelled good. He took a deep breath and inhaled the rich aroma.

He smiled to himself and poured water in the top of the coffeemaker. Things were finally going his way.

Thirty minutes later he was in the shower, scrubbing his hair a little rougher than necessary. There'd been no mention of the missing girl on the news. Sooner or later someone was bound to miss her though. The way those girls were chatting in the diner, he figured it would be sooner rather than later. Those girls must call each other every day, he thought. Several times a day.

He thought of the girl as he rinsed the soap from his hair and body. Her key remote had lead him to her car. He'd carried her to it and dumped her in the trunk. She'd twitched when she landed and he knew she wasn't dead.

He'd slid behind the wheel and driven away, quietly into the night.

Like bees to nectar, he'd returned to a favorite haunt, the mall. He'd parked far from the lights and opened the trunk. She was moaning by then. Rolling her head side to side like she was in a bad dream.

He'd strangled her, then locked all the all the doors, and walked away. The keys were thrown into a dumpster along his route home.

He'd walked for hours. The walk had not bothered him. He'd walked long distances many times in his life.

He came out of his reverie and back to the present. The girl was victim number two. One more to go. This called for a celebration. A beer.

He yanked open the refrigerator and stared at the barren shelves. No beer. Then he remembered, he'd finished the six-pack this morning when he got home. No worries. He would go shopping. He needed more TV dinners.

He grabbed his keys and peered through the curtains of the lone window in his studio apartment. His chest tightened and his brows arched.

"Can't be." He rubbed his eyes and strained his neck for a better view.

The Drew girl and the tall, dark haired man were here, at his apartment complex.

How? Why?

They're cops. Or working with the cops. He should've known. He had a sixth sense when it came to cops, he could partially smell them. And those two stank.

"They're sure as hell not looking to rent an apartment here," he muttered to himself. People like them, didn't live in places like this. Plus, they were dressed way too nice, a lot nicer than people around here dressed.

He saw the folder in the Drew girl's hand and wondered what it held. Nothing good he was sure.

He decided to leave, to make his escape. He grabbed his wallet off the kitchen counter and raced to the apartment's one small closet. His fingers searched the top shelf for the spare cash hidden there. He found the envelope and pulled it down. Counted the bills with trembling hands. Twenty-five dollars. He wouldn't get far on that piddly amount. He needed more cash to set up in the next town.

No time to think, he had to leave fast. He jerked the long dark coat off a hanger, rolled it into a ball, and rushed out the door. No need to lock up, he wasn't coming back.

Head down, he strolled to his car. Peripherally, he watched for the Drew girl and the dark haired man. He saw neither and made it safely to his car. He drove out of the parking lot and as he pulled out of sight he glanced in the rearview mirror. The apartment manager was leading the Drew girl and man in the direction of his apartment.

He had been right. They _were_ looking for him. He couldn't come back here, but he'd known that.

At the moment he needed two things: money and a place to spend the night.

Today was Saturday. The office he worked at would be closed. He had a key to the place. He could sleep there tonight. It was an insurance office and had a small safe for petty cash. Should be easy to break into the safe. He'd check all the desks and filing cabinets, too. People often left spare change in their desks. Some people even left their laptop computers. He could pawn those in the next town.

Not a bad plan, he thought. He would be out of town by tomorrow morning.

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter was a little short. Next chapter is longer. Thanks again for the reviews and good wishes about my kitchen. Can't wait for the appliances. Those come Monday. Can't really cook w/o a stove. I've been using a crockpot and our old microwave, but sometimes you need a stove. LOL_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Nancy and Frank had changed into business attire before beginning their search of apartment complexes. Representing the police department and questioning apartment complex managers demanded a professional appearance. Joe was in Nancy's car scouting a different complex.

Gloria Trainer, the manager for the Golden Heights Apartments, led Nancy and Frank to apartment 2B on the first floor of building B. Although Gloria held the key to the apartment in her hand, she knocked on the door.

"Mr. Jones? It's Gloria Trainer, the manager."

There was no immediate response and Gloria knocked again, a little harder this time.

The door drifted open a few inches.

Frank placed a hand on Gloria's shoulder. "Don't go in."

With a jerk of his head, Frank motioned Gloria away.

Nancy pointed to a juniper bush. "Please, wait over there, Ms. Trainer."

Frank withdrew his Beretta and gave Nancy a nod. She withdrew her Glock and returned the nod.

A frightened Gloria waited by a small juniper bush. Could the man she knew as Owen Jones be a killer? She'd pegged him as odd the minute she met him. But a killer?

Sure, he was quiet and kept to himself. He had paid for two weeks in cash and said he might stay longer, it depended on circumstances. Gloria did not care about his circumstances or anyone else's. As long as he paid, he was welcome to stay.

Well, not if he was a killer. Then she wanted him gone.

Gloria, so lost in her thoughts, hadn't noticed Nancy and Frank disappear into the tiny apartment. But now, she realized they were in there. She brought her hands up to her chest and folded them together. A breeze bellowed her peasant blouse. The apartment keys jangled against her bosom.

A few anxious minutes later, Nancy and Frank reappeared with their weapons holstered.

Gloria nearly collapsed from nervous energy.

"He's not here," Nancy informed Gloria.

Frank pulled out his cell phone and stepped to the side to call Rivera.

"It looks like Mr. Jones left in a hurry," Nancy said to Gloria. "My partner's calling for a search warrant."

Gloria's mouth went slack and her eyes bulged. "Are you saying Mr. Jones is the man? The one who killed that girl?"

Nancy kept a hand on her gun and cast a fugitive glance at the parking lot as she spoke. "We're going to need all the information you can give us on Mr. Jones. I'd like it if you and I return to the office and discuss things there."

Gloria's eyes traveled to Nancy's hand on her gun. Gloria felt weak in the knees. She and her seven year old daughter lived at the complex in one of the nicer apartments. The fact a killer might be living amongst them was quite terrifying. But wait, the lady detective had not said he was killer. She'd gone out of her way _not_ to say it. Of course, that could only mean one thing.

He was the killer.

Frank stepped up to the women. "Rivera's getting a search warrant. It may take a while. I'll wait here and make sure no one enters the apartment."

Nancy laid a calming hand on Gloria's back. "Ms. Trainer and I are going to her office. I think she could use a glass of water."

"Yes. I would like some water." Gloria started walking. She hadn't been sure her legs would move, but they did and she was glad to be moving away from apartment 2B.

# # # #

Frank watched Nancy and Gloria Trainer return to the office. He checked his watch and scanned the grounds. No one in the parking lot. Nothing suspicious happening in the other two buildings. Nothing moving in the forest behind the buildings. Still, Owen Jones could be on the property. He might even attempt a return to the apartment.

Frank and Nancy had not found much in their quick sweep of the apartment. A dirty coffee mug in the sink and a coffeemaker on the counter.

Where was Owen Jones?

Frank wanted an answer to that question. The complex grounds needed to be searched. Residents needed to be questioned. Which meant Frank needed help. He needed Joe.

Frank pulled out his phone and called his brother.

# # # #

The Golden Heights Apartment office was in Building C. The office was in better shape than the complex or its apartments. A small bright spot in a sea of decay was how Nancy viewed it. Fresh paint glistened on the walls and the chairs appeared new, comfortable, and clean. A dispenser in the corner offered cold water and disposable cups.

Nancy headed for the dispenser and filled a cup for Gloria.

Gloria slumped at her desk, picked up the folder Nancy had given her fifteen minutes earlier, and fanned herself with it. The folder contained mugshots of Aaron Wycock and Ray Gordon. Upon seeing those mugshots, Gloria had identified renter Owen Jones.

"Thank you," Gloria said and took the cup Nancy handed her.

Gloria dropped the folder with the mugshots on the desk and gulped the icy water.

Nancy took a seat in one of the new, comfortable chairs in front of Gloria's desk. "As to Owen Jones," Nancy said, "I'd like to see his rental application."

Gloria nodded and pulled open a drawer in one of the three metal filing cabinets. Nancy peered out the window and scanned the parking lot while Gloria thumbed through the filing cabinet. Rivera had not arrived yet and Nancy suspected it would be a good thirty minutes or more before he did. By then, Nancy hoped to have more information on their prime suspect.

"Here we go." Gloria pushed a sheet of paper across her desk.

"Thank you." Nancy picked up the paper and read. "He paid a month's rent. No deposit?"

"We don't insist on a deposit when they pay in full. He wanted a month-to-month. He said he wasn't sure how long he'd be in town."

Nancy's head came up. "He said that? He didn't know how long he'd be in town?"

"Yes. Initially, he wanted a week by week rental, but we don't do those. A month is as short as we go." Gloria gave a half-hearted shrug. "It keeps out some of the riff raff."

Nancy nodded and dropped her gaze to the paper. "There's no employer listed."

"We don't need one when they pay in full."

A rather shoddy practice Nancy thought then asked her next question, "He paid six hundred dollars in cash for the rent. That's a lot of money. He'd need a job for living expenses. Did he ever say anything about a job? That perhaps he was looking for one."

Gloria squirmed in her chair. "I think he might've said something about getting a job as a custodian."

"At a school?" Nancy's jaw tightened.

Gloria gasped. The idea of Owen Jones working around children terrified her. Her seven year old daughter attended school nearby.

"No," Gloria said, the word came out harsh and firm and surprised her. "He mentioned something about looking for work downtown. I didn't press the employment issue since he'd paid in full and only planned to be here a month. If he didn't find work, he said he'd move on. I left it at that."

Nancy switched to a new topic, "Do you know what kind of car he drove?"

"I do. But only because another tenant complained about it. Apparently Mr. Jones' car leaks oil."

Nancy's dark blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "What kind of car is it?"

"An old brown Ford Tempo." Gloria peeked out the office window. "It's not out there now though," she sighed.

"You wouldn't happen to know the year of the car would you?"

"Goodness no. I know nothing about cars. The only reason I know what type of car Mr. Jones drove is because of the tenant who complained. He told me the exact make and model and I wrote it down. The next day the tenant came back and pointed the car out in the parking lot. He wanted me to report it to the police. I told him I couldn't do that. An oil stain was not a criminal offense."

"What's this tenant's name? I might want to question him."

Gloria was mildly surprised by this and frowned. "Mr. Cohen. He's very old and spends most of his time complaining. It seems to make him happy. The complaining."

Gloria gave Mr. Cohen's apartment number to Nancy.

Nancy thanked Gloria and asked a few more questions. No new information came to light so Nancy politely terminated the interview. Before exiting the office, Nancy wrote her phone number, Frank's phone number, and Detective Rivera's phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to Gloria.

Nancy paused at the door and said, "If Mr. Jones returns, do _not_ approach him. Call one of the numbers I've given you."

Gloria shivered inwardly. "Are you saying he's dangerous?"

Nancy considered the question for a second and then said, "I'm not saying he isn't."

# # # #

Frank was not idle while Nancy conducted her interview. First, Frank knocked on the apartment door to the left of Mr. Jones'. No one answered there and Frank moved to the door on the right. This time someone did answer, a woman of forty-something who was trying desperately to look much younger without success. She had long black hair (dyed that color), an overly made-up face, and clothes a small too small. One size too small may have been generous.

Frank pegged her as a streetwalker. Or more accurately, that was the means by which she paid her rent.

The woman eyed Frank appreciatively and purred, "Well, hello there. What can I do for you?"

Frank dangled his PI badge in front of her and her demeanor changed abruptly. She leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms, and appeared somewhat bored. Still, her gaze raked Frank from head to toe and she was not shy about it.

Undaunted, Frank forged ahead, "I'm working with the River Heights PD. I was wondering about your neighbor next door. What can you tell me about him?"

Frank indicated the door to the woman's left and she gave it a cursory glance. "Him?" She sneered. "Haven't really seen him. He's only been here a short time. Can't say I've even seen him. Sorry."

Frank probed further but got nowhere. Finally, the woman gave him a sad smile and closed her door. Interview over. A smiling Nancy arrived a few minutes later.

"What's up?" Frank asked, anxious for some good news.

"We may have a lead on our suspect."

Frank heard a car door and glanced at the parking lot. Nancy did the same. Rivera and Joe had pulled into the lot in separate cars. Frank waved and both men headed toward him.

Rivera held up the search warrant as he approached. "Crime Scene boys are on their way, too." Rivera looked from Frank to Nancy. "You're confident this is our killer?"

"Yes," Nancy said and told about the dented, brown Ford Tempo with an oil leak.

Rivera hissed a curse then smiled. "Looks like we're on the right trail."

He also informed the group they were to be deputized. This order came from the judge who had issued the search warrant. Rivera had agreed with the judge and had been ready to suggest the same thing himself. He told the three PIs to raise their right hands. A minute later they were duly sworn to uphold the laws of Illinois and so forth.

Rivera said this deputization was retroactive to two days ago. That meant everything the young PIs had discovered since then and all the evidence they had collected could be used in a future trail against the killer. Or any person suspected of being the killer.

The three young PIs were quite happy about this.

Nancy shared her information about the leaky Ford Tempo. This was met with enthusiasm and Nancy added she would like to interview Mr. Cohen. Perhaps he had seen Owen Jones or spoken to him.

Rivera approved this and Nancy left to find Mr. Cohen's apartment.

Rivera and Frank searched Mr. Jones' apartment while Joe was tasked with searching the grounds. The theory being that Trish Seaton had followed Owen Jones here and therefore had been abducted from here.

Nancy knocked repeatedly on Mr. Cohen's door, but he did not answer. Nancy surmised there were only three reasons why he did not answer his door: he was not home, he was asleep, or he was avoiding her. None of the three options were pleasant. Nancy was forced to give up in defeat.

Frustrated, she phoned Rivera and reported her lack of success. Rivera directed her to join Joe in his search of the grounds.

# # # #

Joe said, "Nan, you look close to the building. I'll fan out and look farther away." He indicated the wooded area behind the buildings.

Nancy agreed and bowed to the task. Her eyes swept the ground, still damp from last night's rain. Hopefully, they would find some footprints. Nancy also scanned the parking lot and street. She wondered where Trish had parked last night. If the young woman had in fact followed Owen Jones here, it might be best to find the spot where she parked. It would give them a starting point for their search.

The sun was high in the cloudless sky. Hot rays beat down on the earth and slowly dried the ground. Perfect conditions for preserving footprints, Nancy thought as she walked hunched over the grassy lawn. A bead of sweat formed on her brow and she wiped her forehead. Joe had disappeared behind the building.

Nancy scoured the street beyond the apartment complex and found a somewhat secluded spot she thought Trish Seaton might have parked in. Unfortunately, Nancy could find no proof. There were no tire prints to confirm her suspicion.

By now, Nancy was sweating profusely. She could do no more here and headed back to the buildings. Joe came from behind building A and waved to her. Her heartrate jumped and she jogged in his direction.

"Over here." Joe motioned as Nancy approached. He stood next to a juniper and pointed to the damp ground near its base. The shrub's shadow had kept the ground damp.

Nancy got on one knee. "Footprints. And I think they're a woman's. They're small and look at the heel. I'd say they were dress shoes."

Joe had come to the same conclusion. "The impressions are deep, as if the person sank into the ground a little."

"As if they stood here a while. Doing what?"

"The prints faced the shrub. She hid here, behind this shrub."

Nancy studied the juniper and the area beyond it. "You're right. She'd have a clear view of the parking lot and buildings from here."

"She was spying on him," Joe said.

Nancy got to her feet and wiped her brow. "But at some point he must've realized that and came after her and attacked her."

"Let's search the area. Maybe we can figure out where she went from here."

Nancy bent at the waist and scanned the thick grass. It had not been mowed in recent weeks and that hindered their search.

"Nan, I found something." Joe pointed at a torn section of grass only a few feet away.

Nancy joined Joe and together they crouched beside the strange disruption of grass.

Nancy hazarded a guess, "Looks like a foot twisted – or pivoted – in this spot and ripped the grass."

"There's two twisted sections." Joe pointed at them.

He stood and placed a foot near each ripped section. His feet were now shoulder width apart. Joe recognized the stance, he'd used it many times. "Nancy, what happens to your feet when you swing a baseball bat?"

Nancy felt her throat tighten as the answer rose in her mind. "They pivot. Or twist."

Joe swung an imaginary bat and Nancy watched his feet twist in the grass.

"You guys find anything?" Detective Rivera called causing Nancy to jump.

Rivera and Frank trudged across the lawn.

"Footprints," Joe said and pointed. "A set here and a set under that shrub."

Rivera and Frank stopped next to Nancy and she said, "We think Trish Seaton may have been attacked here. Joe was just demonstrating how a person's feet pivot when they swing a blunt object. An object shaped like a baseball ball."

All eyes turned to Joe, then down to his feet, and finally to the torn clumps of grass. Joe swung the imaginary bat again. Everyone was silent, imagining the unthinkable.

Then Frank said the one word everyone expected to hear, but no one wanted to hear. "Blood."

Nancy followed Frank's gaze and drew back in horror. There was something else on the ground.

Hair. Long, fine, strands of blonde hair.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the delay, kitchen stuff came first. Appliances are in! Home cooked meal for dinner tonight. :)_

 _Thanks folks for your support with my writing and kitchen remodel. ;)_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Rivera phoned Chief Logan. Blood and hair evidence and a positive ID of one of the mugshots put this murder case in the fast lane.

Crime Scene techs showed up at the Golden Heights Apartment Complex within an hour. They dusted Owen Jones' apartment for fingerprints and retrieved the coffee mug for DNA evidence. Lip prints could be seen on the rim. A black hat was found on the shelf in the closet. It matched the description given by several witnesses. The hat was bagged and tagged for DNA testing. Perhaps a stray hair was still attached.

The CSI team finished in the apartment and moved to the blood and hair outside in the grass. Joe and Frank had stood guard over this important evidence and gladly relinquished their hold on it. Joe in particular seemed anxious to leave its' presence.

Nancy made several trips to Mr. Cohen's apartment hoping to find him and question him regarding Mr. Jones and his car. The wily Mr. Cohen was never home. Nancy struck out three times and decided to see Gloria Trainer again. Nancy asked if Ms. Trainer had any idea where Mr. Cohen might be.

Gloria chuckled and said, "He's probably making his rounds."

"His rounds?" Nancy's eyebrows rose in question.

Gloria explained that Mr. Cohen considered himself something of a Lothario. His daily routine included visits to all the older, single women in the apartment complex. When Mr. Cohen wasn't romancing the older women, he was out walking. There were trails in the woods behind the complex and Mr. Cohen made good use of them. According to Gloria he could be gone for hours.

Nancy thanked Gloria and asked her to call if she saw Mr. Cohen out and about. Gloria promised she would.

Nancy headed to the grassy area where Joe and Frank were stationed. They were no longer there. Instead, they and Rivera waited on the sidewalk for Nancy. Rivera had received a phone call from Chief Logan and had news to share. Rivera's grim expression indicated the news was not good.

Trish Seaton's car had been found thanks to her friends Celia and Brandi. The women had driven around that morning looking for it and found it at the mall parked in a far off corner. Vacant and alone, the car had appeared ominous to the women. Neither felt good about their discovery and immediately called the police.

Chief Logan dispatched Detective Hagan and some uniforms to check out the car. Hagan found the vehicle locked and called for assistance. Crime Scene techs arrived thirty minutes later and soon had the vehicle open. Trish Seaton's crumpled body was found in the trunk. A crushed and bloody forehead told how she'd been subdued. Marks on her neck told how she'd died.

The news sobered the four investigators standing on the sidewalk. Their fears had become a reality. Of course, they had expected this as a possible outcome. Still, the reality was shocking. Everyone was sure the blood and hair found in the grass would prove to be Trish Seaton's.

They knew where she'd been attacked, here at the apartment complex. Now, it must be proven _who_ had attacked her. Owen Jones, as he was currently known, was their prime suspect. Hopefully, forensic evidence would link him to the crime. Hopefully, he had shed a hair or some DNA in her car and on her body.

Rivera said he was headed back to the Police Station. Chief Logan had requested his assistance on addressing the media. What and how much information should the public be given? Should the mugshots be released? Should the public be told about the vehicle Owen Jones drove?

The team stood on the sidewalk and briefly discussed the options.

Frank said, "I think you should include Owen Jones' real name, too."

Rivera agreed with this. The killer might be known by a wide variety of aliases. The more information the public had, the better chance someone would recognize the killer and report his whereabouts.

"He might have a job," Nancy said. "If an employer or coworker sees the mugshots and recognizes him, they're sure to call the police."

Rivera noted everyone's comments and took his leave.

The three young PIs stayed on the sidewalk and eyed each other warily.

"Dammit," Joe hissed and punched one palm with a fist. He saw Nancy's startled face and walked off.

Nancy looked at Frank. "What's that about?"

"Let me talk to him. Alone." Frank had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had prompted Joe's outburst.

"I'll let Gloria Trainer know we're leaving and not to let anyone in Mr. Jones' apartment," Nancy said. A frown of confusion and worry creased her brow as she walked away.

Frank turned and followed Joe who was headed toward the woods. Frank stopped him with a shout, "Joe, wait."

Joe stopped but kept his back to his brother. Joe's hands were balled into angry fists. His jaw was clamped so hard his teeth hurt. He waited in the grass wishing he could punch something.

Frank came up beside him and Joe turned his head slightly.

"Dammit all to hell" Joe growled. "It's my fault. Because of me Trisha Seaton's dead."

Frank saw the rage burning in Joe's sky-blue eyes. Frank had suspected Joe blamed himself for the young woman's death. "It's not your fault, Joe. You didn't tell her to follow a stranger in the middle of the night."

Joe looked at his brother like he was dense. "She wanted to impress the blond detective, remember?"

"I remember. But that's her doing, not you telling her to. If you'd known what she was planning you would've stopped her. She should've called the police. Plain and simple."

Nothing was plain and simple, Joe thought. Couldn't his brother see that?

Actually, Frank could. At the moment a nightmare played in his mind. Iola Morton burned alive in a car bomb. Iola had been Joe's girlfriend five years ago. They'd only dated a short while, but the relationship had been intense and passionate.

When the car exploded, Joe had raced toward it determined to save Iola. Frank had raced after Joe and tackled him. They'd slammed into the pavement and rolled around, throwing punches. Frank remembered how hard Joe had hit him that day. Frank's jaw had been sore for weeks.

Searing heat and falling metal had finally brought the fight to an end. The brothers had fled to the safety of the office building and watched the burning car. It was a day neither brother would ever forget.

In the weeks that followed a new fight began; the fight for Joe's sanity. He fell into a deep depression, so deep no one could reach him. Not even Frank. It tore Frank to pieces to see his brother so broken and shattered.

A few months later the Gray Man and the _Network_ came calling. The Gray Man told Joe and Frank who was responsible for Iola's death – the Assassins. The Gray Man wanted the brothers to work for him and help track down the Assassins. Joe jumped at the opportunity and Frank followed suit.

The brothers worked for the _Network_ for three years in the hopes of avenging Iola's death. They solved cases and experienced hair-raising adventures, but the revenge Joe eagerly sought never came. The Assassins remained elusive and out of reach. Those who took Iola's life were left unpunished and that very thought tormented Joe daily. He'd failed Iola.

Two years ago, Joe and Frank said good-bye to the Gray Man and the _Network_ and joined their father's detective agency. The experience and credentials the brothers gained from working with the _Network_ were invaluable. No law enforcement agency in the country would ever turn them away. Several had offered to hire them. The brothers had thanked the perspective employers and stayed with their father and his agency. It was a decision they never regretted.

Frank came back to the present and said, "It's not your fault."

Joe glared at him.

"I know how you feel."

Joe snorted. "Do you?"

"I was there, Joe. I grieved, too. Iola's death wasn't your fault and neither is this."

"Easy for you to say." Joe's anger ripped through Frank with the force of a tidal wave.

"Not easy, Joe. But Nancy's grieving, too. This bastard killed her mother. Think how she feels."

That took Joe down a notch. He ran his hands down the sides of his face and breathed heavily. Suddenly, he felt very tired. "You're right. I'd forgotten about Nan."

Frank eyed Joe sternly. "Let's keep our heads in the game and get this bastard."

Joe nodded and they headed to the parking lot to meet Nancy. She stood next to Frank's rental car waiting patiently for the brothers.

The three PIs got in their cars and headed to the Drew house. Joe in Nancy's car, Frank and Nancy in his rental car.

"How's Joe?" Nancy asked.

"He's fine," Frank said.

Nancy left it at that. If there had been a problem Nancy trusted Frank enough to tell her.

Frank and Nancy made the rest of the drive in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

Frank thought about his brother and then about Nancy. They were the two people, other than his mother and father, he cared about the most. A crazed killer had disrupted both their lives. All their lives. A crazed killer had in all probability, killed Nancy's mother, a mother she had never truly gotten to know. The same killer had thrust Joe into renewed grief and rage. Add to that the other lives the killer had cut short and the other families he had left heartbroken and grieving.

Frank's grip on the steering wheel tightened and he made a vow. He would stop this killer once and for all no matter what the cost. _There would be no more deaths_.

No, Frank thought, there would be _no more_ deaths.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry this chapter was rather short. We'll have to wait and see what the next one brings. Thanks again for the lovely reviews. You folks are truly the best. :) All typos and mistakes are solely my responsibility and I apologize for them._


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

He drove through the streets hunched over the steering wheel. He kept his head down and silently cursed. There seemed to be a cop on every corner. He yanked the wheel and turned off the main street. He drove into a residential area. Fewer cops there. Actually, no cops there.

The plan. Stick to the plan. Get to the insurance office. If he made it there then success was within his grasp. He would spend the night at the office, raid the safe, and skip town in the morning. Start fresh in a new place.

He jerked his head from side to side, searching for cop cars. So far, so good. But he couldn't stay in residential areas forever. At some point, he had to use the main streets to get to the insurance office downtown. Okay, he would use the back streets and get as close as possible to downtown.

Fifteen minutes later he was in a back alley surrounded by weeds and shrubs. He patted the Ford Tempo's hood and said good-bye. It had served him well for three years. The weeds and shrubs hid the dented brown car nicely.

He picked up the club and slid it under his pants. Part of it trailed down his bare thigh. His pants hid the strange object. Part of the club came up to his neck. He shrugged on a light jacket and zipped it up. Now, the club was completely hidden.

He took a quick look around and walked away, out of the alley and onto a house-lined street. He saw children playing in a front yard. Two women, probably their mothers, sat on the porch idly chatting. He kept his head down and hurried along the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets.

# # # #

It was almost five o'clock. Gloria Trainer felt a headache coming on. She stood at the office window and rubbed her forehead. Massaged it tenderly. Two uniformed policemen had spent the afternoon questioning the tenants. Gloria watched the policemen get into their patrol car and leave.

Thank God. But what would the tenants of the Golden Heights Apartment Complex say? A killer had been living among them? And no one knew. How awful.

Would tenants want to move? Would there be complaints?

Gloria was stressed and worried. She had rented to a killer. A possible killer she reminded herself. Owen Jones was merely a suspect at this point. However, that small distinction did not make Gloria feel any better.

Her head throbbed and she longed to go home. She needed aspirin and a warm bath.

She pulled herself up and said, why not? She was the manager and it was time to lock up. She would call it a day. Lock the office and go home. Her husband and daughter would be home soon. Oh how, she wanted to see her daughter and hug her.

Gloria reached for her keys and gasped.

A figure stood in the office doorway.

Not him, she thought. Oh please, not him.

He entered the office and shut the door. Gloria backed up against her desk and took a deep breath. The man before her was tall and slightly stooped.

"Can I help you?" Gloria asked, her voice high-pitched and nervous.

"Depends. What's with all the police?"

"Didn't they question you, Mr. Cohen?"

"Course they did, but those cagey bastards didn't say what they really wanted. I'd like you to tell me what this is all about."

Gloria wondered if she had the patience to deal with old Mr. Cohen. She knew he wouldn't leave, not until he'd been given a satisfactory answer. Best to placate him then get out as fast as possible before any other tenants trapped her and questioned her.

"It's about Mr. Jones. I'm sure the police told you that," she sounded testy and combative. She blamed it on the headache.

"They did. They wanted to know all about the weirdo in 2B." Mr. Cohen lowered his head and glared at Gloria from beneath bushy white brows. "We all know something's wrong with that one, the one in 2B."

"I have no idea what you mean," Gloria huffed. The police had warned her not to give out information on Owen Jones. They wanted to keep things 'under wraps' as they put it.

Gloria tried to change the topic, "Would you like a cup of water?"

She started for the dispenser. Maybe a cup of water would ease her headache.

"I don't want no water. I wanna know what's going on around here. Does this have anything to do with that guy's leaky car?"

The question hit Gloria like a ton of bricks. _The leak_. That lady detective, Nancy, had been interested in the leaky car. She'd ask several questions about it. She'd wanted to talk to Mr. Cohen about it.

"It does," Gloria said. "The police are very interested in his car. Didn't they question you about it?"

"Sorta."

"Sort of? What do you?"

"I tried to tell them 'bout my ruined shoes but they didn't want to hear about them so I said, 'good-bye, can't help you.'"

Gloria's face settled into pinched disapproval. "What? Why, Mr. Cohen you might be withholding valuable information from the police. What's this got to do your shoes?"

Mr. Cohen dropped into one of the new, comfortable chairs and crossed his long legs. "This might be a long story. I think I will take that water after all."

Gloria gave Mr. Cohen a stern look and headed for the dispenser. She filled two cups and gave one to him.

Mr. Cohen sipped his water and leaned back in his chair. "His leaky car ruined my shoes. I wanted him to pay for a new pair. I told the police I wanted some money for my shoes. They just smiled politely and said they couldn't help me."

Gloria sat behind her desk. "Did you tell the police it was his leaky car that had ruined your shoes?"

Mr. Cohen thought for a moment as he sipped his water. "Don't know if I did. I've been kinda hot about those shoes. They were brand new and the ladies liked them."

Gloria shook her head. Mr. Cohen and the ladies.

Gloria put her arms on her desk and leaned forward. "Mr. Cohen, the police are investigating Mr. Jones. Anything you can tell them about his car is very important."

Mr. Cohen laughed and slapped his knee. "Investigating? Heck, I already investigated Mr. Jones. I know all about him and where he works. He can afford to buy me a new pair of shoes." Mr. Cohen stressed the last sentence with a empathic nod.

"You .. you know where he works? How in the world did you find that out?"

"A little detective work." Mr. Cohen's lips curved in a smug smile. "You see, I stepped in one of those dang oil spots his car's always leaving. That made me mad. Ruined a brand new pair of shoes. But I already told you that. Anyways, I went to his apartment and showed him my shoes. Said I thought he owed me a new pair. He laughed right in my face. Said he wasn't buying me any new shoes and to get outta his face, 'Ya old coot!' Called me, an old coot. That made me mad, too.

"I said, 'What? You ain't got no job? You a deadbeat or something?' He said, he had a job but it wasn't any of my business and to leave him alone. I asked him what his job was, but he wouldn't tell me. That's when I figured I'd just follow him. I'd find out one way or another if he had a job."

"Did you follow him?" Gloria's eyes were big and round.

"I did. I started that day. He went to the grocery store and bought food then spent the rest of the day in his apartment. It was dark when he finally left again and I was ready. I'd been watching from my window. I saw him locked his apartment door and head to the parking lot. I had my car keys ready and hurried after him."

Gloria thought this was either very brave or very stupid of Mr. Cohen.

"He drove all over town," Mr. Cohen said. "Seemed he was looking at houses. I thought that was kinda strange cause the houses he was looking at he could never afford."

"That is strange," Gloria mused. "How were you able to follow him and he never noticed?"

Mr. Cohen shrugged, held out his hands, and stuck out his lower lip. "Just kept my distance. Guess he never dreamed someone would be following him. He never noticed me."

"So, where does he work?"

"Altman's Insurance. He pulled in there 'bout five o'clock. At first I thought he was there for insurance. Then I saw everyone leaving. It was quitting time. He stayed though and that's when I figured maybe he works there. I wanted to make sure though, so I went and got a hamburger and came back. I sat in my car and ate my burger and drank my coke and watched the office. The lights were on inside so I knew someone was in there. I kept watching and finally I seen him go past, he was mopping the floor."

Mr. Cochen grinned and finished his water. "He works there all right. He's a custodian for Altman's Insurance."

Gloria was momentarily speechless. "Wow. I'm very impressed Mr. Cohen. You _must_ tell the police this."

Mr. Cohen pushed out of the chair and tossed his paper cup into a trash can. "Well Miss Gloria, they shoulda been nicer to me. All I really want to know is, is he the killer? The one who killed that young woman?"

Gloria rose. "I'm not supposed to say anything. But .. well, as far as I know, he's a suspect." She wagged a finger at Mr. Cohen. "Now please, don't go spreading that around."

Gloria was sure her advice fell on deaf ears.

"I won't say a word."

Mr. Cohen opened the office door and waved good-bye. Gloria sank into her chair and ruefully thought, the police should hire Mr. Cohen as a detective.

The police. She should call that lady detective, Nancy. She wanted to know where Owen Jones worked. Well, now Gloria knew. Of course, he might not work there anymore, not if he suspected he was being hunted.

Gloria pulled out the card Nancy had given her and stared at the phone numbers. Nancy had said to call no matter what time of day. Gloria reached for the phone on the desk. The office door burst open and her seven year old daughter, Natalie, ran inside. Gloria's husband followed behind their rambunctious daughter.

"Mommy! Daddy and I had a great time at the zoo today."

The phone call to Nancy would have to wait. Gloria wanted to hear all about her daughter's day at the zoo.

# # # #

He took another look around then shoved the key into the door. He'd gone to the back entrance in the alley where he wouldn't be seen. When he was safely inside the insurance office he locked the door and leaned against it. He breathed deeply. Finally, he could relax.

He took several more deep breathes and pushed away from the door. There were things to do. Breaking into the vending machines was first on the list. He unzipped his jacket and tossed it on an office desk. Then he pulled the club out of his pants and headed to the employees break room.

An hour later, shattered plastic and glass littered the floor of the breakroom. His stomach was full and he lounged on the sofa in the breakroom, a cold soda in his hand. He guzzled it greedily and belched loudly. That caused him to howl with laugher. Exhaustion and relief had made him giddy. He threw the soda can at the wall and rolled on the sofa laughing.

Outside the sun sank below the horizon and the office slowly descended into gloom. His eyes grew heavy. A few hours of sleep would do him good. He needed the rest. He yawned and stretched out on the sofa. Soon he was fast asleep.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you as always for the reviews. Glad to see there is still interest in the story. :)_


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Hannah admired the meatloaf she'd made. It was seasoned and shaped to perfection. She carried the heavy pan to the oven and slid it in. It would take an hour and a half to cook and by that time Nancy and the Hardys should be home. If not, sliced meatloaf was easy to warm up in the microwave. Hannah was not an advocate of microwaves, but over the years had come to value them for reheating meals.

Many a night Nancy or Carson Drew had come home late, way too late for dinner. Hannah's homecooked meals saved the day. They were ready and waiting in the fridge. All Nancy or Carson had to do was heat one up. Hannah figured the food was still fresh and healthy even if it did come from a microwave.

Speaking of fresh and healthy, a nice salad and oven fries would go perfect with the meatloaf. Hannah gathered up potatoes and a large cutting board. As she reached for the butcher's knife she heard the front door open.

Nancy and the Hardys had returned. The weary detectives hung their jackets on the coatrack beside he front door and headed to the kitchen.

Nancy was hot and sticky and depressed. The French braid she had artfully weaved that morning was loose. Copper-blonde curls fell around her face.

Nancy nodded a greeting to Hannah and slumped onto a chair at the kitchen table. Frank and Joe did the same.

Hannah looked at the tired, worn faces and wondered if she dared ask how their day went. Their sad, exhausted expressions said, it had not gone well.

Hannah summoned her courage, steeled her nerves, and said, "Bad news?"

Nancy answered for the group, "The missing girl was found murdered."

That was indeed bad news. Hannah joined the trio at the table. "I'd so hoped you would find her alive."

"We all did," Frank said. "There is some good news. We have a suspect, Ray Gordon. A forensic team searched his apartment this afternoon. I'm sure they found fingerprints and DNA evidence. I'm confident it'll match the evidence in the other missing women cases."

Nancy pushed errant strands of hair behind her ears. "We believe Gordon's on the run. His mugshot and the make and model of his car is being broadcast on TV and radio stations."

"Roadblocks are being set up, too," Frank added. "The noose around Ray Gordon is tightening."

"I'm happy to hear that." Hannah rose and went to the refrigerator. She took out a tall pitcher of fresh lemonade and set it on the table. "You all look like you could use a cold drink."

Over glasses of lemonade the detectives shared the events of their day with Hannah. She offered words of encouragement and pointed out that thanks to their efforts the police now had a name and a face for the killer.

Hannah pushed back her chair. "I have potatoes to slice and a salad to make. Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

"Need help?" Nancy asked.

"No thanks, dear. You look tired. You folks rest a little before dinner. Oh, your father is having dinner with Bert Walters so, it's just the four of us."

Nancy, Frank, and Joe headed to the living room. Nancy and Frank took a seat on the sofa. Joe flopped into an easy chair. He hadn't said more than two words in the kitchen.

Given Joe's pensive mood, Frank decided to give a peep talk.

Frank cleared his throat and reminded everyone that negative thinking wouldn't get them anywhere. It certainly wouldn't help them catch the killer. "We need to stay positive," he said, "I'm upset about Trish and the fact we didn't save her. We all blame ourselves for that, but realistically speaking, what could we have done? She made the decision to follow a stranger. We all know it wasn't a wise decision. Trish and what happened is out of our hands. Let's move on. We need to figure out what Gordon's next move will be. What would you do if you were in his shoes?"

"I'd hole up somewhere," Joe said offhandedly.

"I would, too," Frank agreed. "But where?"

"Not a hotel or motel," Nancy said. "Too risky. His face is all over TV. Someone would recognize him."

Joe nodded at Nancy. "He's probably found an abandoned warehouse or building."

"Probably," Nancy said rather feebly.

The trio fell silent. Each pondered Ray Gordon and his whereabouts.

Joe stifled a yawn. He stood and stretched and yawned again. He covered his mouth with his hand. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

Frank said, "And you didn't get their usual ten hours of sleep last night."

"Not to mention my jet-lag," Joe countered. "I can't think of anything else to add to this discussion, so if you'll excuse me, I'm heading upstairs for a little shut-eye before dinner."

Frank and Nancy watched Joe retreat up the stairs. Frank turned on the TV. He wanted to catch one of those late-breaking news reports. He switched from channel to channel with no luck.

Nancy sat quietly and contemplated Ray Gordon. Who was he? Why did he kill? What drove people to do such things? Nancy's thoughts turned to her mother. Why had Gordon killed her? Had he asked her for a ride that day twenty years ago? When had he decided to kill her, before the ride or during it?

Nancy wanted answers to those questions. Anger flashed through her. She wanted Ray Gordon behind bars. Actually, she wanted more than that. Much more, but she shook the awful thought away. She would never kill. She could never take a life. To take a life meant she was no better than Ray Gordon.

Frank leaned over and his shoulder touched Nancy's. A tingle slid down her back and she jerked.

Frank pulled away. "Sorry, Nan. Didn't mean to startle you."

Nancy sucked in air. The warmth of Frank's brief touch lingered and she wished he hadn't pulled away.

"It's okay. I was thinking about … about Ray Gordon." The name was acrid in her mouth and she swallowed hard to rid herself of the taste.

Frank's dark brow knotted. Ray Gordon, a monster in human form. What could Frank say to comfort Nancy? Were there any special words? If there were he couldn't think of them. A glance at the TV saved him. A special report was on. He touched Nancy's thigh and pointed at the TV.

The sat up and listened to the middle-aged reporter standing outside the River Heights Police Station. The reporter announced the discovery of another victim. A young woman found strangled in her car. The police had a suspect, the reporter said. The police were asking the public for assistance.

Ray's mugshot filled the screen. It was ten years old and viewers were warned of this. Ray's name and current age scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The reporter said Ray Gordon was on the run and considered armed and dangerous. Citizens were advised to use extreme caution around him. Next, a picture of a brown Ford Tempo filled the screen. Citizens should be on the watch for such a vehicle.

The reporter read from a script, "Police Chief Logan has asked that anyone with information on Ray Gordon, his whereabouts, or his vehicle, please contact the police immediately."

"This is good," Frank said. "Gordon won't get far now."

"I don't know," Nancy said. "He has a head start. He might've slipped town early this morning and be miles away."

"These broadcasts are being shown across the state of Illinois and in neighboring states," Frank reminded her.

"What if he's changed his appearance? He'll be harder to spot."

Frank's gaze locked on Nancy's. Her eyes were a deep midnight blue and very beautiful. For a second Frank forgot what he was going to say. Then it came to him. "Sooner or later someone's bound to spot him even if he has changed his appearance."

"I prefer sooner."

"So do I."

Nancy pulled the hairband from her French braid and shook her head. A gesture born of frustration. Her hair fell in messy waves around her shoulders. A titillating fact that Frank did not miss.

Nancy made a fist and hit her thigh with it. "I wish we knew where he was. I hate thinking he's slipped through our hands. We were so close. I felt it. We almost had him."

Frank tried to give her hope. "He's going to be hard pressed to get very far. Chief Logan and the neighboring towns have dragnets and road blocks set up. Police officers are stationed at bus terminals and the airport."

"Your're right," Nancy sighed.

Frank slid a hand over to Nancy's and their fingers slowly, tentatively entwined. Frank's voice was low and rough, "We're going to catch him. I promise you that."

Nancy felt Frank's sincerity. It was like an electrical current. It traveled from his hand to hers. From his heart to hers. But Nancy was reluctant to accept his promise.

"Frank," she paused and her gaze dropped to their hands folded together. She wanted to say, 'don't make promises you can't keep.' But she had made the same promise to her father only a day ago and now doubted her ability to keep it. She would not voice those fears to Frank. He was making the same promise for much the same reasons as she had.

She lifted her head and looked into Frank's coffee colored eyes. "Thanks," she whispered and gently squeezed his hand.

The hint of a smile and a token of relief softened Frank's features. He leaned closer and his lips parted to speak.

Hannah abruptly appeared in the doorway. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I . I just wanted to say dinner'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"You're not intruding," Nancy said quickly, perhaps too quickly. Her rosy cheeks indicated the truth was otherwise. "We're ready for a break. Can I help with something?"

"Well, it would be nice if you set the table while I get the meatloaf and potatoes out of the oven."

"I'll be right there." Nancy reluctantly slid her hand out of Frank's and rose. "I have to go. Maybe we can talk later."

Frank pushed off the sofa and stood beside Nancy. He was suddenly awkward and shy. "Um, yeah. Later. I'll get Joe. It'll probably take twenty minutes to wake him."

Nancy laughed as Frank headed to the stairs. She wondered what he'd been about to say. If only Hannah had not appeared. Maybe later, she and Frank could talk. All alone. She wanted to be all alone with him. Then he could tell her what was on his mind. She had a few thoughts she wouldn't mind sharing either.

Hannah hurried back to the kitchen chiding herself the whole way. Oh, she wished she had not interrupted Nancy and Frank. It had looked as though things were rather intimate. Hannah should have looked first, not just barged in. Well, lesson learned.

# # # #

After dinner the three young detectives were restless. They tried watching TV, but every time the special news report aired it reminded them of Trish and their failure to save her.

Joe pounded the arm of the easy chair with a fist. "There's gotta be something we can do." He sprang to his feet and went to the window. He hated sitting around especially in this case. Lives were at stake.

"What do you suggest we do?" Frank asked from the sofa.

Joe peered through the blinds and into the darkness. Not a creature was stirring. He turned to Nancy and Frank. "Maybe we can drive around and look for his car. It's not much but it beats sitting around."

Nancy got to her feet. "I like the idea. I'm tired of sitting around, too."

"I'm game," Frank said.

They donned their jackets and informed Hannah of their plans. Hannah was not as enthusiastic as the three young PIs, but in the spirit of adventure she bade them good-night and good hunting.

As the trio stepped into the cool night air Nancy's cell phone chirped.

Nancy beamed at Frank and Joe when she ended the phone call. "That was Gloria Trainer, the manager of the Golden Heights Apartment Complex. Mr. Cohen showed up and told her Ray Gordon works as a night custodian for Altman's Insurance."

Frank's brow furrowed with inner perplexity. "How does Mr. Cohen know where Ray Gordon works?"

"He followed him one day." An amused smile lit Nancy face. "Mr. Cohen wanted to know if Gordon had a job. Mr. Cohen was upset with Gordon. His leaky car had ruined a pair of Mr. Cohen's shoes. Cohen figured that if Gordon had a job, he could pay for a new pair of shoes."

"Makes perfect sense," Joe said with a hint of sarcasm.

"It does when you're eighty," Nancy said lightheartedly.

Frank opened the driver's door of the rental car. "So, we check out this Altman's Insurance?"

"Sounds good to me." Joe opened the passenger's door.

"It's a good starting point," Nancy said.

The three PIs slid into the rental car and all three car doors slammed shut. Frank backed the vehicle out of the driveway and Nancy gave him directions to Altman's Insurance Company.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Ray stirred and gradually woke. He was on the sofa in the employee's breakroom at Altman's Insurance Company. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sat up. Shattered vending machines cast a pale blue light over the room. Ray's club lay on the floor amid the vending machines' wreckage.

Ray's eyes gradually adjusted to the gloomy surroundings. Tables and chairs came into view and then the TV.

 _The TV. The news_.

Ray turned on the set.

A few minutes later he stumbled into the men's room and splashed cold water on his face. The special report with his mugshot had shaken him. That old mugshot from his rape conviction.

Never in twenty years of killing had his face been on TV. Never.

 _The cops knew who he was. How?_

He entered a bathroom stall and relieved himself. Someone from the insurance office would see his mugshot and report him to the authorities. It was only a matter of time. What if they already had? What if they came looking for him tonight, here at the office?

He would leave town tonight. It was the logical thing to do. The smart thing.

He ducked into the breakroom, grabbed the club off the floor, and headed to the wall safe. He wielded the club like an ax and pounded the metal door and handle. Several good blows popped the door open. He scooped out a wad of bills and counted. It came to less than two hundred dollars.

"Hardly worth putting in a safe," Ray seethed and stuffed the money in his pants pocket.

The employees' desks were next. He yanked out drawers and spilled the contents onto desk tops and the floor. His efforts yielded him a few more dollars.

The flash of headlights in the parking lot sent him scurrying behind a desk. The police?

Cautiously, he rose and peered over the top of the desk. The window blinds were slanted enough so he could see out. He watched a car pull into a parking spot. Three people got out. Two men and a woman. They stood around the car and talked. They pointed at each other and press their fingers to their ears.

What the hell? Who were they?

The lights in the parking lot were feeble. It was impossible for Ray to see the trio's faces. However, they were in civilian clothes. That much he could tell. Of course, that might mean they were police detectives.

They fanned out and that's when Ray caught the glint of metal. They were armed.

Ray saw the swish of a long blonde ponytail before the three darted out of sight.

"The Drew girl," Ray hissed. She sure got around, he thought with a smirk. And the tall dark-haired guy was there, too.

"I have developed a definite dislike for him."

Ray's fingers curled around the club.

There were three of them and one of him. Three against one. Three with guns. He with a club. The odds were not in Ray's favor.

Escape was his only option. He would slip out the back door and run like hell. He would find a car and hotwire it. One way or another, he would get out of this town.

Ray crouched and moved from desk to desk. He kept an eye on the big front window. Where had the three gone? What were they planning?

Ray got to the short hall that lead to the bathrooms and back door. He thought he heard the jiggle of the front door, like someone was trying to get in. Ray moved closer to the back door and then it hit him – he hadn't locked the door earlier when he entered.

How dumb. He almost laughed at the irony. What if, while he'd slept, someone had broken in and robbed the place. He would have been left empty handed. Poetic justice some would say.

An overhead security light bathed the hall in a warm yellow glow. Ray did not like the warm yellow glow. He needed darkness for his escape. He thrust the club up and straight into the light. Plexiglas rained down on his head and shoulders. Bits and pieces bounced along the tile floor.

Now the hall was dark. Ray put his back to the wall and stretched out a hand. He felt his way to the door, step-by-step. He cocked an ear and strained to hear the smallest of sounds. And he did hear something. A muffled voice on the other side of the door.

Ray stopped and stood perfectly still. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He spied the lever style door handle and his blood froze. The handle was moving, slowly lowering.

Ray braced for an attack. The door opened a crack and weak light from the outside bled in. Ray lifted the club and thought, _Come on in. I'm ready for you._

* * *

 _A/N: Two chapters in one day? What's the world coming to? This chapter was so short I decided to go ahead and post it. The next chapter is longer and needs editing. It might be two days before that one gets posted._

 _As always, a special thank you for the reviews._


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: Please note that chapter 26 was posted two days ago. There was only one review for that chapter so I don't know if it wasn't interesting enough to comment on or people didn't notice it. Either way, hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you Shani8 for your review on the previous chapter. Thanks to everyone who's left a review for this story. Your reviews encourage me to keep going. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

Frank, Nancy, and Joe stood in the parking lot of Altman's Insurance.

Joe pressed a device in his ear and said, "How's your com working, Frank?"

"Working fine," Frank answered. "I hear you loud and clear."

Joe turned to Nancy. "Sorry we only have two coms."

"It's okay," Nancy said. "I'll stick with one of you."

Frank rested a hand on the Beretta holstered at his waist and jutted his chin toward the building. "I'll check the back entrance. Joe, you and Nancy take the front entrance."

Joe nodded consent and he and Nancy melted into the shadows. Both were armed and, like Frank, kept a hand on their weapon. They had not seen anything suspicious yet, but with two women dead, it was better to err on the side of caution. The general idea was to scout around the building. Check the windows and doors. Anything broken or disturbed? Any scratches around a door lock? Was there anything to indicate Ray Gordon was here?

Ray Gordon's car was not here, but that made sense. He wouldn't leave it out in the open. Not unless he was very dumb and the team did not think he was dumb. He'd murdered several woman over the course of several years without being apprehended. No, he was not dumb.

Frank had reasoned, "He knows the police are looking for the car. He's probably ditched it."

"If so, he's on foot. That'll slow him down," Joe had said.

# # # #

The team approached the building with caution. Nancy and Joe crept to the large front window and crouched beside it. Nancy kept watch while Joe peeked inside. The security lighting and the slanted blinds allowed him to view the office.

"Looks like it's been ransacked," he said.

He nudged Nancy and she peeked inside. "Gordon's been here."

Joe spoke into his headset. "You copy that, Frank?"

"Affirmative. I'm at the back entrance."

Frank withdrew his weapon. A bare 60 watt bulb protruded from the cement wall and illuminated the dingy alley.

Nancy touched Joe's arm. "I think I saw something move."

Joe warned Frank, "Nancy saw something. Gordon might be in there."

"Roger that." Frank pressed his back to the wall and eyed the door. Would Gordon attempt to escape through it?

Joe reached for the knob on the front door. "It's locked," he said.

A loud crash from inside brought him up short.

Nancy unholstered her gun. "Someone's in there."

"You hear that crash?" Joe asked Frank.

"Yes." Frank reached for the door handle and tried it. "The back door's unlocked."

"You're kidding." Joe was incredulous.

Frank held his breath and pressed the lever-style door handle down.

Joe's voice came over the com line, "Do we have a plan, Frank?"

"Yes. I'm going in."

"What? Are you crazy?" Joe growled each word. _And he calls me the impulsive one._

"Gordon's going down. Tonight. Before he hurts anyone else," Frank growled back.

 _Dammit. Too risky!_ Joe wanted to grab his brother and pound some sense into him.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked.

"Frank's going in. Against my better judgment I might add."

"What? Why's he being so, so …"

"Stupid?" Joe supplied the word.

Nancy nodded. Inner confusion and anger showed in her expression.

Joe shook his head helplessly. "I have no idea."

Nancy quelled her anger and squared her shoulders. "Then we're going in, too. He'll need backup."

"Roger that." Respect and relief shone in Joe's eyes. He had not wanted his brother to face Gordon alone. He was happy to know Nancy felt the same.

# # # #

Frank opened the door an inch and peered inside. Murky darkness shrouded the interior. All Frank saw were shadows and shapes. He gave the door a gentle kick. The lone outside bulb spread a little light inside. Frank squinted and tried to see beyond the doorway.

Having no luck, he stepped inside.

The club slammed into his left arm and sent him sailing into the wall with enough force he lost the grip on his gun. Frank bounced off the wall and collapsed on the tile floor. His gun skittered across the floor and ricocheted off the opposite wall. His earpiece was lost in the attack, too.

 _Oh God!_ Frank thought as he lay sprawled on the cold tile. _You're in big trouble now, Hardy._ A sharp pain traveled down his left arm. S _tay focused!_ he told himself, _Ignore the pain!_ He was seriously injured and knew it. The possibility of going into shock preyed on his mind, but he didn't have time to worry about that.

The ringing in his ears did not completely mask Ray's evil laugh.

"Gotcha!" Ray said with unreserved satisfaction.

Frank groped in the darkness with his good arm, feeling for something – anything – he could use as a weapon. The situation should be reversed — he should be hovering over a defenseless Ray.

A sharp intake of breath told Frank that Ray was about to swing again.

 _Go!_ Frank pushed himself off the floor with his good arm and lunged forward, away from Ray. The club caught Frank in the back and he crashed into a metal desk. His chest hit the edge of the desk and he heard a sickening crack. His ribs. Broken or fractured? He fell to the floor clutching his chest and fighting for breath.

Gunshots rang out followed by the explosion of shattering glass. Joe kicked open the front door. He and Nancy entered the dimly lit office with their weapons drawn and ready.

Joe put his back to a wall and crouched. He scanned the office. "Frank!"

Nancy hunkered down next to Joe and they exchanged worried glances. Nancy pointed to her ear and lifted an eyebrow. Joe shook his head and mouthed the word 'nothing' indicating he'd lost contact with his brother. Joe saw the concern and fear in Nancy's eyes. They matched his own.

Nancy leaned over and whispered, "I'll stay here. You go cover the back entrance. I don't want this creep getting away again." Anger had quickly replaced her fear.

"Good plan." Joe ducked out the front door and hurried to the alley.

The gunshots had surprised Ray and he'd taken cover. Frank had seized the opportunity and crawled under a desk. Ray and Frank were at the back of Altman's rather large office. Under the yellow glow of the security lights, Frank could see desks and chairs, _and_. . . Ray lurking behind a filing cabinet.

Frank cringed. The desk offered scant protection. Frank's chest and arms were somewhat shielded by the desk, but his legs were fully exposed. Frank didn't think he could take another blow from the club. The pain in his arm throbbed relentlessly, incessantly, unforgivingly. His shirt sleeve was wet and sticky with bright, red blood. He was cold and shaky. Not a good sign. He might be going into shock.

Nancy's voice cut through the gloom and pain, "Frank."

 _Stay away, Nancy._ _Stay away!_

Frank's eyes grew wide with fear. A grinning Ray knelt beside the desk. He reached under to grab Frank.

Frank brought his right arm up to block Ray's hands. The men struggled beneath the desk. Ray got his hands around Frank's neck and squeezed. Frank frantically clawed at Ray's hands with his one good hand. He hit Ray in the arm and head, but the confined space made it difficult to land good blows. Frank bucked and jerked and gasped for air. Any other day he could take Ray on. Any other day, the fight would be fair. Not tonight. Tonight, Frank was weak and dazed and racked with pain.

Ray leaned on Frank's broken arm and Frank howled.

"Frank!" Nancy screamed.

Frank heard the worry, the fear, the anguish. He heard it all in her voice, in that one word, his name.

Ray dragged Frank out from under the desk. He got on one knee and bent so his face was close to Frank's and said, "Call her."

"No," Frank hissed through gritted teeth. A fist plowed into his face and he saw stars. A second blow landed on his injured arm and he howled again, a gut-wrenching howl.

"Frank! Where are you?" Nancy sounded desperate.

 _No, Nancy. Stay away_. Frank didn't want her anywhere near this maniac.

Frank gulped a shallow breath and stifled a moan. Tears stung his eyes. White hot pain shot up his arm and stole his breath. Spikes of needle sharp pain tore at his chest and he feared a punctured lung.

Ray made a fist and pressed it against Frank's chin. Ray's breath was hot and moist on Frank's cheek when he spoke, "Call her over here. I have a little present for her."

"Go. To. Hell."

Frank saw Ray pull back his fist. Another blow was coming. Could he survive it?

"Run, Nan," Frank cried then pushed Ray aside with his good arm and kicked him in the chest. Frank mustered all his remaining strength and stood. He was hunched and hurting badly. His broken arm hung limp at his side. He needed cover, a new place to hide.

Nancy spotted him stumbling in the shadows. _He's hurt!_

Ray watched Frank crawl under another desk. Ray gingerly picked his club up off the floor and swaggered to the desk. He was in control here. He would show Frank who was boss, who determined the fate of others. _Ray_. He and he alone decided who lived and who died.

And Frank was about to die.

The club crashed into the side of the metal desk lifting it an inch off the ground. Pens and a rolodex clattered onto the floor. A coffee cup fell and shattered into hundreds of small pieces.

The club smashed into the desk again. With more force this time. Ray had found his rhythm.

"Freeze!" Nancy faced Ray. Her feet were shoulder width apart and her arms were extended. Her gun was held in two-handed grip and she sighted in on Ray's chest.

Ray lowered the club and held it close to his chest. His eyes narrowed to black slits. "You don't have the guts."

"Try me."

Ray smiled and lifted the club. As it came down, Nancy fired. The shot was deafening. Ray dropped the club and fell on his knees. A wet, red stain blossomed on his t-shirt. Shock and surprise briefly registered on his face. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

"Good shot." Joe stood in the hall, his handgun drawn and ready.

"Frank!" Nancy holstered her gun and dashed to the battered desk.

Joe moved cautiously and checked on Ray.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

 **River Heights Memorial Hospital waiting room …**

A large clock on the wall told Nancy it was 10:55pm. Twenty minutes ago a nurse had taken Joe to see Frank.

Nancy waited, impatiently, and wondered how Frank was. She hadn't heard anything since they'd brought him in two and a half hours ago.

She paced the empty waiting room and thought back to finding Frank under the desk. He'd been pale and shaky. Had shivered uncontrollably. His pulse and breathing had been rapid and shallow. His eyes damp with tears and his shirt covered in blood. He'd tried to put on a brave face, but she knew he was hurting. Hurting badly.

The fear he would go into shock had prompted her into action. She'd ripped off her jacket and wrapped it around him. Joe had given her his jacket as well. She'd rolled it into a log, pushed it under Frank's legs, and elevated them. Then she'd kept him talking until the ambulance arrived.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Joe had been steady and composed. Methodical in some ways. He'd checked on Ray Gordon and then on Frank and then had calmly called for _two_ ambulances. Frank and Ray would not be in the same ambulance. Joe had been adamant about that.

Once the ambulances were on their way to the hospital with Frank and Ray, then, and only then had Joe called Detective Rivera. Joe had reported the whole bloody episode. He'd told Rivera how they'd gone in unassisted. How they hadn't thought to call for backup. Yes, it was a foolish mistake and they had paid dearly for it.

Nancy couldn't thank Joe enough for what he did, for telling Rivera about their folly and taking the heat for it. And he had taken heat for it. She'd heard his clipped, but respectful answers, _Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes sir. It was a mistake, sir._

Nancy checked the clock again. 11:05pm. Ray's face sprang into her mind. How she hated him. She had wanted to kill him. Had almost done it. She had aimed for his heart. It would have been so easy. But she wasn't a killer. Still, her aim had been true. She'd shot him in the left shoulder, two inches above his heart.

Detective Rivera had called an hour ago from St. Mary's Hospital and said Ray was going to be fine. He was expected to make a full recovery.

Nancy had curtly replied, "Thank you, sir." Inside she seethed. She hated hearing that Ray would be fine. He did not deserve to be fine. It was uncharitable of her to feel this way. To even think this way. But she couldn't help how she felt and deep down she didn't care. He had taken her mother from her. And now … Frank. What had he done to Frank?

She glanced at the clock again. 11:10pm.

What was keeping Joe? Good news or bad?

The glass doors leading to the patients' rooms opened and out came Joe.

Nancy practically pounced on him. "Joe, how is he?"

Joe ran a hand through his messy blond hair and ruffled it. Made it messy than before.

"The doctors say he's going to live in spite of being pig-headed and stupid." Joe smiled at his joke. The smile faded when he saw Nancy's expression. She was worried and scared and he was making jokes.

He motioned at the most comfortable chairs in the waiting and said, "Let's sit. I'm tired."

He lowered his exhausted frame into a chair. Nancy took a seat beside him. She sat alert and ready, waiting for news on Frank.

Joe leaned forward, put his forearms on his thighs, and shook his head. "I still can't believe he pulled a stunt like that. Going in without back-up."

"I can't believe it either," Nancy said. "It's so unlike him."

"Yeah. Well anyway, Frank has a couple of broken ribs. A compound fracture of the left arm. And a whole bunch of bruises on his face and chest."

Nancy sucked in a sharp breath. "Will his arm be okay? I mean, will he have full use of it when it heals?"

Joe shrugged. "Too soon to tell. Frank's young and healthy so the doctors are optimistic. They put three pins in to hold the bones together. The arm's too swollen to cast. The doctors say it'll probably be a week, maybe two, before he gets a real cast. He's going to be out of commission for quite a while."

"But he's going to be okay?"

"Yeah, he's going to be okay. In spite of being stupid which I already mentioned." Joe smiled at Nancy.

A glimmer of a smile showed in Nancy's eyes. She exhaled a profound sigh of relief. "I'd like to see him. Did you ask the nurses if I could see him?"

Only immediate family members were allowed to visit a patience. Nancy hoped Joe had found a way around that.

"Um, yeah. I, um, I told the nurses you're a … you're sorta part of the family."

Nancy frowned.

Joe ignored the frown and said, "I have to warn you. Frank's not looking so hot. Not that he ever was much to look at. But now. Well now, he's in bad shape. Really bad shape. I just want you to be prepared for that."

"I think I can handle it," Nancy said and wondered if she could. "What's his room number?"

"Three-fifteen. Seriously, Nan. I'm not sure he'll even know you're there. They've got him pumped so full of pain meds he doesn't know which way is up. And he's still groggy from the anesthesia. He was fading in and out of consciousness when I was there. He's more _out_ than in."

Awake or not, she wanted to see him.

# # # #

Frank lay beneath the white sheets. A soft cast encased his left arm. An IV snaked into his right arm. Bandages circled his bare chest. He looked frail and vulnerable. An uncommon sight for Frank Hardy.

 _He's in bad shape. Really bad shape. I just want you to be prepared for that_.

Nancy thought she was. But maybe not. She stood beside the hospital bed and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his bandaged chest.

She slid a hand into his. His skin was warm. She lightly caressed the back of his hand with her thumb and studied his bruised and battered face.

"Oh, Frank."

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers.

A middle-aged nurse entered the room and smiled. "You must be Nancy."

"Yes." Nancy watched as the nurse checked Frank's IV and took his pulse.

"Your fiancé is going to be fine," the nurse said reassuringly.

Fiancé?

Nancy was momentarily stunned. Then she realized what had happened. Joe.

 _I told the nurses you're a … you're sorta part of the family._

"We're not actually engaged," Nancy mumbled then watched the nurse's gaze travel to Nancy's hand wrapped around Frank's.

The nurse tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Boyfriend then?"

"Yeah, something like that." Nancy turned her head. Her cheeks burned and she was sure they were bright red.

 _This poor woman thinks I'm crazy. I'm sitting here, holding his hand like he's my boyfriend. Why wouldn't she think he's my fiancé or boyfriend? Especially after whatever Joe told her._

 _Joe!_

She couldn't be mad at him. His ruse had gotten her in to see Frank. She hated lying to people. It wasn't in her nature. She preferred to be direct and honest.

The nurse scribbled something on Frank's chart and hung it back on the bed. "You have ten minutes," she said.

She dimmed the lights as she left the room. The door shut quietly behind her.

Nancy sat in the darkened room. Hospital smells surrounded her. Antiseptic and soap. The steady drip of the IV mesmerized her for a minute. Then she listened to the soft clicks of the machine monitoring Frank's pulse and heartrate.

She still held his hand. It fit perfectly into hers. His hand was warm and strong and comfortable. Their hands fit together like two halves of a whole. Those halves had been separated by time and distance. But now, they were reunited.

Nancy felt the connection, a glow in her heart. Was this love?

Frank was special. Her heart told her so.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. She was acting like a silly school girl.

But Frank was special. She knew that. She had always known that.

She looked down at him. He hadn't moved.

"Frank?" she whispered.

He didn't move. Not even the flutter of an eyelid.

She reached out and smoothed his disheveled hair. She ran the back of her hand along his cheek, the side that wasn't bruised and swollen.

She had things to say. Things he couldn't hear tonight. She decided to say them anyway.

"Frank, this isn't the way I wanted things to end tonight. I had hoped we would find some time to be alone."

She looked around. They were alone.

"Not like this of course. Not in a hospital room. I was thinking more like a walk around the neighborhood. Or a cup of coffee at a diner. You see, there was something I wanted to tell you."

She faltered. Unsure of what to say or how to say it.

"You see, I wanted to tell you …"

Her voice trailed off. She couldn't say the words after all.

How childish of her. The brave Nancy Drew couldn't say the words she wanted to.

She left the words unsaid and changed topics. "Frank, what were you going to say when Hannah interrupted us?"

He didn't move. The medicines were working. They were keeping him sedated so his body could heal.

She asked another question. He couldn't answer tonight and perhaps that was best.

"Frank, why did you rush in like that? Without backup? You're the one who always does everything by the book."

He lay motionless. His breathing shallow, the only indication he was alive.

She would have to wait until he was awoke and recovered before they could talk. And they needed to talk. She needed to know how he felt. How he felt about her.

The ten minutes were almost up. She ran a hand down his uninjured arm and felt the warmth radiating off of him.

"I care about you, Frank. I always have."

She bent and kissed him on the cheek. A light, delicate kiss.

"Get well, Frank."

The nurse returned. "Time to go, hon. Don't worry. We'll take good care of him."

"Thank you. I'll be back in the morning."

Her hand brushed his cheek one last time and then she left.

* * *

 _A/N: Wow! Thank you so much for the kind reviews. So glad you liked the last chapter. And I'm glad I put the note at the top of the chapter. I'd had a feeling people had missed chapter 26. So now we're into wrapping up the loose ends and seeing where N & F's relationship goes. There are still several chapters left. Cheers!_


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Frank and Joe's parents, Fenton and Laura Hardy, flew in the next day to oversee their son's care. They spent two days discussing care and treatment with Frank's doctors. The prognosis was good. Frank should make a complete recovery provided he followed the doctors' orders. Laura Hardy was determined he would.

Four days later, Fenton Hardy returned to New York. He had a business to run and cases to solve. Laura Hardy stayed in River Heights to care for her son. Part of her decision may have been based on the fact it was so unusual to have her older, more sensible, son hurt and in need of care.

Frank was released from the hospital two days after his surgery. He couldn't fly home. His doctors had advised against it. His arm was still too swollen and still in a soft removable cast. Frank's activities were severely limited. His doctors had decreed it and his mother enforced it with an iron hand.

Frank spent his first days out of the hospital resting and sleeping in the hotel suite his father had arranged for his wife and sons. The broken ribs were more a nuisance than painful. The arm was painful. There had been nerve damage and pain meds hardly numbed it. So, Frank rested and slept, rather fitfully, and his mother tended to his needs: cleansing wounds, changing bandages, administering meds, food, and drink.

While Frank rested, Nancy and Joe worked with Detectives Rivera and Hagan. The team was determined to put Ray Gordon behind bars for the rest of his life. The team's mission was to provide overwhelming evidence for the County Prosecutor to build a solid case against Ray Gordon. The oil stains from River Heights matched the oil stain Frank had collected in Bayport, New York. The footprints from Florida matched the very shoes Ray was arrested in. Ruby, the waitress from the diner, picked Ray out of a line-up and positively identified him as the man she served coffee and pie to on the fateful night Trish Seaton went missing. The old Ford Tempo was found by some teenagers in the weed infested alley and a DNA sample from a strand of hair found in the car's back seat matched Dawn Bedingfield's DNA. DNA from a strand of hair found in the trunk matched Trish Seaton's DNA.

It was the final nail in Ray Gordon's coffin. The news came on the same afternoon as Trish Seaton's memorial service.

Nancy, Joe, and Hagan had sat in contemplative silence after Rivera had read the DNA report from the forensic lab. So that was it. They'd spent the last week compiling and organizing evidence and conferring with the prosecutor's office. Now, it was over. The last piece of the puzzle was in place.

Or was it?

For Nancy, there was one piece left. The why?

Why had Ray Gordon murdered? More importantly, why had he murdered her mother?

Nancy wanted an answer. She knew what she had to do. She went to Rivera one afternoon and made her request privately. He tried to talk her out of it, but she was firm. She wanted an interview with Gordon. Whatever he told her could be used at his trial. It was a win-win for all involved. Rivera did not see it that way. He pointed out the heartache she was setting herself up for.

"You'll be playing right into his sick fantasies," Rivera said. "He'll say things just to hurt you. It's all a game to him. He'll get off on seeing your pain."

Rivera's words did not deter Nancy. "I've thought of that and I can handle it."

"Can you?"

Rivera was deeply disturbed by Nancy's request. He said he would like a night to think about it. Nancy agreed and left. The prosecutor's office decided the matter the next morning. They wanted a motive for Ray Gordon's killings. It was the only thing their case lacked.

The why.

"I can get them that," Nancy said to Rivera. "Let me talk to Gordon."

Reluctantly, and against his better judgement, Rivera acquiesced. Nancy could interview Gordon. But Rivera would be right outside the interview room watching.

"If he tries anything or it get to be too much for you, I'm coming in," Rivera said. With a scowl, he added, "And for the record, I still don't like this."

"Understood," Nancy said. Her heart leaped in her chest. Was it happiness or dread that caused her heart to pound?

Rivera did his job and arranged for the interview. It was scheduled for the following morning.

Nancy drove home that evening. Happiness and sadness warred in her heart. It had taken twenty years to catch the man responsible for her mother's death. Until two weeks ago, she hadn't known her mother had been murdered. Perhaps, she had been lucky. Not knowing had saved her years of pain and grief. Her father, however, had lived quietly all those years with heartache.

Her father would be happy to learn they had enough evidence to put Ray away for life. If there was any justice in the world, he would never set foot outside a prison again.

# # # #

The next morning arrived. The interview with Gordon was only hours away. Nancy steeled herself. Trepidation and doubt made her question her resolve. No, she could do this.

Gordon must be handled carefully. She could not display emotion in front of him. She could not allow him to control the interview.

She checked her appearance in the mirror and smoothed down her blouse. She was ready.

She met Rivera at the prison. They were led to a room with a two-way window. Nancy and Rivera on one side, the interview room on the other. Nancy watched through the window as a guard led Gordon into the interview room.

Gordon's hands were cuffed in front of him. His ankles were shackled. A long chain connected the handcuffs to the ankle-cuffs. The orange prison jumpsuit gave his pale skin a sickly yellow color. His black hair, graying at the temples, was flattened against his head. Coal black eyes peered out from under bushy eyebrows.

The guard pulled out a chair and Gordon sat in it. He placed his forearms on the table and stared at the window. He knew he was being watched. He showed no emotion. No expectation of what was to come.

The guard knocked on the observation room door, greeted Nancy, and ushered her into the interview room. Gordon looked up at her, but said nothing.

The guard closed the door and waited on the outside.

Nancy took a seat opposite Gordon and placed a tape recorder and large notepad on the table. She laid a pen next to the notepad. And then she stared into the eyes of the man who had killed her mother.

# # # #

Two hours later, she fled the room emotionally drained. It had been the hardest two hours of her life.

Ray Gordon had not spared her feelings. She had not expected him, too. As Rivera had predicted, Gordon had taken great delight in telling his story. Elizabeth Drew was his first murder. It had been a spontaneous act.

For Ray, the day had started like any other. His mother snipped and griped at him the moment he woke. He hadn't gotten her favorite TV dinners when he went to the store. She couldn't eat the stuff he'd bought. It was a waste of money. Money they didn't have.

He hadn't cleaned up his mess in the kitchen. Why couldn't he clean up behind himself? He was a custodian for God's sakes. He should know how to clean things.

The bathroom faucet needed fixing. Why hadn't he done anything about that?

And on and on it went.

Ray had stormed out of the house. Hate burned a hole in his stomach. He couldn't live like this anymore. He wanted his mother gone, out of his life.

And then he realized, he could make it happen. He could kill her.

He thought about it all day. He worked it out in his head, how he'd do it. She was frail, had a hard time going up and down the stairs. Actually, she hadn't been up or down the stairs in a year. Her bedroom was on the ground floor. It had an adjoining bathroom. He'd think of a reason for her to fall down the stairs. That was the only snag in his plan … the reason.

He was in the main office of the school, getting ready to leave, when his mother called. He answered the phone on Elizabeth's desk. Mother's voice grated on his nerves. She wanted specific items from the grocery store. Couldn't he go there after work and pick them up?

No, he could not. Didn't she know he'd walked to work? They didn't have the money for him to drive to work every day.

It didn't matter to mother, she wanted her items and he had better get them. He could drive to the store after he got home, she said.

He slammed the phone down and Elizabeth walked in. She'd forgotten a book, she said. Oh, there it was. On her desk right where she'd left it.

He asked her for a ride home. Told her his mother needed him.

Elizabeth said, yes, why of course, she'd give him a ride. And she hoped his mother was okay.

Elizabeth said all this in that sweet voice of hers. Oh, she was sweet and kind and he liked that about her. She was pretty, too. Did Nancy know she looked exactly like her mother? It was as though, Elizabeth herself was sitting across the table from him.

He stared brazenly for a second, waiting for a reaction. Nancy remained stoic. She wrote something on the notepad in front of her then cleared her throat and asked him to continue his story.

He did.

Elizabeth drove. She was a very good driver. Very careful. He told her which streets to turn on. Things were going fine until she asked about his mother. How was the poor woman these days?

He replied in a tone that was none too kind and his words were caustic. The old bird might not live too long, he said. Or something to that effect. He couldn't remember.

Elizabeth seemed shocked by his attitude and chided him. Mothers were special. There was only one per person, she said with a gentle smile meant to soothe his anger.

The smile did not soothe him. It irritated him. Elizabeth knew nothing – absolutely nothing – about his mother. His mother was the worse creature on earth.

Elizabeth was barely older than him, who was she to tell him about his mother? To suggest he should be thankful he had a mother.

The morning's anger came back, full-force. It kicked him in the teeth.

They were coming to a curve in the road. It was a secluded spot. Four miles of nothingness. Trees lined both sides of the road. It was dark and eerie.

"Stop the effing car," he shouted.

Elizabeth slowed down and he saw the fear in her eyes. Real fear. She wanted away from him. Far, far away. She wanted him out of her car.

She was a danger to him now. She would tell everyone how he'd lost his temper. How he'd yelled at her. How he hated his mother. When his mother died, and she was going to die, all eyes would be on him. He did it, they would say. Remember how he yelled at Elizabeth? There's something not right about him.

Elizabeth was a threat to him and he needed to eliminate her.

He yanked the steering wheel and sent the car careening through a shallow ditch and toward the trees. Elizabeth screamed and grabbed the wheel. They struggled over it. He pulled to the right. She pulled to the left. Neither watched where they were headed. The tree loomed in front of them. He saw it at the last second and braced for the impact. Elizabeth wasn't so lucky. Her head slammed into the dashboard and she slumped forward. She was still alive. He knew because he saw her twitch and heard her moan. The scenario was perfect. He'd been handed a gift. People would think she'd been killed in a car crash.

He clamped his hands around her neck and squeezed. He looked into Nancy's eyes. Wanted to see the haunted look and was pleased when he found it.

"I squeezed the life out of her. She came to a little. Tried to fight me. But she was too dazed. I kept squeezing until she turned blue."

Nancy's chair tipped over and crashed on the tile floor. "Enough!"

She stood before him, shaken.

He smiled coldly. "You wanted the story and now you have it. Did it live up to your expectations?"

Rivera and the guard were in the room. Nancy grabbed the notepad, tape recorder, and pen and rushed out. Rivera followed her.

"Don't let this bastard get to you," Rivera said.

"I'm not." Nancy trembled as they walked the hallway.

A different guard led them back the way they'd come, back to the main entrance. Mr. Drew was in the reception room.

Nancy fell into his arms. "Dad. I'm glad you're here."

Mr. Drew hugged his daughter to him. "You shouldn't have done this without me."

Nancy lifted her head and looked up at her father. "You endured twenty years of pain. I only had to endure two hours. I needed to know, dad. I needed the truth. The whole truth."

"Did you get it?"

"Yes."

"You can tell Hannah and me about it at home. I'm driving. We can get your car later."

Nancy handed Rivera the tape recorder.

Rivera laid a hand on her shoulder. "Call me if you need anything. Even if it's just to talk."

"I will. Thank you."

# # # #

The hardest two hours of Nancy's life was followed by the hardest night. She shared Ray's story with Hannah and her father. Hannah had tears in her eyes by the end.

Her father had listened quietly, absorbing every word. "Thank you, Nancy. Thank you for getting the truth."

And then they were hugging. All three of them. The healing had begun.

* * *

 _A/N: Whew. Well, now the healing can begin for the Drews. This chapter was not in the original story, but it should have been. Just one of the reasons I'm rewriting this story. Also if you spot a typo, you can tell me in a review or PM me. I'll fix it right away._

 _Thank you dear readers for the reviews, favorites, and follows. There's a few more chapters to go. Some N/F fluff is coming up. ;) Cheers!_


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

It was ten a.m. when Nancy opened her eyes. Nancy had never slept so late on a Friday morning. Not unless she was sick and she was not sick. Well, not physically sick. One would not be remiss if they said she was emotionally sick.

Sleep had eventually come, but it had not been restful. Images of Ray and her mother in the car had plagued her dreams. Nightmares. That's what they were. Nightmares. It would be a long time before Nancy had dreams again.

Nancy forced herself out of bed. The house was quiet. As quiet as a grave. Nancy donned a robe and shoved her feet into fuzzy slippers. She padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Hannah was there, having a cup of tea.

Hannah looked up. "Would you like some tea? The water's still hot."

Nancy eased into a chair. She felt a headache coming on. "Yes. Thank you, Hannah."

Hannah prepared the tea and set it in front of Nancy. Hannah returned to her chair and placed her hands around her teacup. "How are you, dear?"

Nancy added cream to her tea and stirred. "Exhausted. Emotionally and physically exhausted. After this tea, I'll probably go back to bed."

Hannah looked at Nancy over the rim of her teacup. "I don't think any of us slept last night."

"Probably not."

"Would you like some toast or a boiled egg?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry. I have a bit of a headache."

The women sat in companionable silence and sipped their tea.

Finally, Hannah said, "Whenever you need to talk, I'm here for you."

Nancy gave Hannah an affectionate smile. "I know and I appreciate that, Hannah. More than I can express. But today, I need to rest. I'm emotionally drained. I can't even think straight."

"That's quite understandable, dear. You've been pushing yourself hard on this case and now it's over. I think a little rest is just what the doctor would order."

Another silence and then Hannah said, "Gladys called. She has new pictures of her grandchildren she'd like to show me. I told her I might stop by, but I wanted to see how you were doing first."

"I'm fine, Hannah. Please, go and visit your friend."

Hannah pushed to her feet and collected her teacup. "Your father's at his office. When he saw you sound asleep this morning, he decided to go in. He said he could take the afternoon off though if you wanted."

"I think I'd like to be alone today. I need some time to myself. Sometime to relax and unwind."

Hannah placed her cup in the sink. "Well, in that case, I'll take Gladys up on her offer of lunch. And then I have my book club tonight."

"Sounds like you have a full day," Nancy said and a small smile lit her face. "Please, go and enjoy yourself. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. I'm sure there's plenty of food in the fridge if I get hungry."

"Yes, there's plenty to eat. Well, if you're sure you don't mind being alone …"

Nancy rose and pulled Hannah into a hug. "I don't mind at all. I need it."

# # # #

Nancy took some aspirin and went back to bed. This time she slept. When she woke three hours later, she felt somewhat rested. The headache was gone, too.

She lay in bed and listened to the house. It was quiet and peaceful. Exactly the way life should be.

Nancy threw back the covers and stretched her body. She stretched her legs and pointed her toes. She stretched her arms to the sides and wiggled her fingers. All her parts seemed to be working. Perhaps, a little stiff after being in bed so long. A nice long soak in a hot bath would fix that.

An hour later, Nancy climbed out of the tub. She felt refreshed. Like a new person. Her face tingled from the fruity mask she'd used. Her skin was soft and fragrant from the scented bubble bath.

She pulled on comfy pants and a t-shirt then brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. She grabbed a long forgotten book from her bedside table and headed downstairs for a cup of tea and a sandwich.

As Nancy got to the last step, the doorbell rang. Now, who could that be at three in the afternoon? Her father wasn't due home till at least five and then he wouldn't ring the bell.

She opened the door and stared at the tall figure filling her doorway. One arm was in a sling.

"Frank? How'd you get here?"

Frank hitched a thumb in the direction of the driveway. Joe smiled and winked from the driver's window of a rental car. He waved and pulled out of the driveway.

"Oh," Nancy mumbled. Frank's sudden appearance had surprised her. In a good way, but also in a bad way. She looked awful. She was in old clothes. Her hair was in a ponytail and she had no make-up on.

Frank sensed his surprise had not worked as well as he hoped. Perhaps he had misjudged Nancy's feelings for him. "Sorry to drop in like this, Nan. Unannounced and all. I should've called first. But, but I really needed to get out of that hotel room. A week of lying around doing nothing is driving me crazy. Can you take pity on a guy and let him stay a while?" He tilted his head in the direction of the empty driveway. "My ride's gone."

Nancy leaned out of the doorway and eyed the driveway. "Hmmm, so it is. Seems you've been left high and dry."

Frank glanced from his cast in the sling to Nancy's blue eyes. "We haven't seen each other in a week. I've been worried about you. I heard about the interview. That had to be tough."

"That, I don't want to talk about." She was just beginning to feel normal again. She certainly didn't want to discuss Ray's interview.

Frank flinched at the harshness in Nancy's voice. He didn't want to talk about the interview either. He'd thought maybe he could comfort her, but she clearly didn't want that. So, he told her the real reason he was there.

He drew in a breath and shifted from one foot to the other. "Listen, Nan. I .. I've missed you. And there were some things I wanted to discuss with you. I'd meant to discuss them before … before all this happened." He indicated his broken arm.

He missed her? Had Nancy heard correctly? She was taken aback. Frank Hardy was full of surprises. And she liked that. She liked it a lot and she was also curious about what he wanted to discuss. It brought her back to that night Hannah had interrupted them. What had he wanted to say then?

Finally, she would get some answers. But she needed to admonish him a little. Showing up on a girl's doorstep with no warning?

"You know, a little warning would've been nice. I look awful." She gestured at her clothes and hair.

Now, he was taken aback. "Nan, you're gorgeous." He'd noticed the glowing skin and rosy cheeks. She was fresh and vibrant. He'd also detected a slight fruity aroma. It was quite enticing. Didn't she know how appealing she was?

The way Frank's eyes lit up told Nancy he meant what he said. He found her very attractive and she was pleased to know it. Beyond pleased.

She smiled. A smile that came from her heart. "Okay, Hardy that earned you a pass. I'll let you in."

"A pass?" he said in a low suggestive voice and stepped into the house.

Nancy thought his smile couldn't get any bigger. A flood of happiness washed over her. She felt the tingle from her head to her toes. Frank Hardy had brought her happiness. Serene and beautiful happiness. And in that moment she knew she was going to be okay.

"Don't push your luck." She grinned and closed the door. "I was just going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

"Tea? As in teacups?" One dark eyebrow rose then lowered. "I'd love some."

"Yes, teacups. Oh, _teacups_!" Nancy instantly realized what Frank was thinking. That first night. Their struggle over the cups. And she'd promised him a fight anytime.

"I couldn't put up much of a fight tonight," Frank said as if he'd read her mind. He nodded at his arm. "Still pretty sore. You would definitely have the upper hand."

"I think I like those odds."

# # # #

Nancy placed the grilled cheese sandwiches on the kitchen table and took a seat.

"Thanks for making the sandwiches, Nan. I didn't mean to make you cook though."

"I know. But I wasn't in the mood for a delivery pizza. I'm glad we agreed on grilled cheese. It's one of my favorite comfort food."

"Mine too."

After the sandwiches, Nancy and Frank relaxed on the living room sofa.

"So, how's the arm?"

The bruises on Frank's face had faded and the swelling was gone.

"Better every day. The pins come out Monday and I get a real cast. Then I'll be cleared to fly home." Frank didn't sound excited that, about leaving.

Nancy felt the same. "Have you and Joe and your mom booked a flight?"

"No, mom thinks it's best to wait until Monday to be sure. The doctors could change their minds about the cast."

Nancy nodded and thought about the questions she had for Frank. She'd been thinking about them ever since he arrived. Might as well ask them now. When would she get another chance?

"I have some questions for you, Frank?"

"Yeah?" Frank ran his tongue over his lips. A nervous gesture born of fear and worry.

"Yes." Nancy adjusted herself on the sofa so she faced him. "Why did you — the most sensible guy I know — go into that office without back-up?"

Frank dropped his head in shame. "Well Nan, the truth is I was thinking with my heart and not my head."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I was thinking about protecting you and my brother." Frank shook his head in disbelief. He'd been so foolish. So stupid. "I didn't want either of you to get hurt again." He saw the look in Nancy's eye. "Yeah, I know. Both of you can take care of yourselves. But Trish's death hit Joe hard. It brought back all those memories of losing Iola. I hated seeing him like that. Suffering again. And then you and what happened to your mother ..." His voice trailed off. He appeared defeated.

Nancy didn't scold. She understood Frank's motivations. "Yes, but you seem to forget that it ways both ways. You got hurt and that frightened me. I'm kind of protective of you, too."

Frank smiled weakly. "We always did have each other's backs."

"We still do. I have another question."

Frank grimaced and swallowed hard.

"What were you going to say the night Hannah interrupted us, here on the sofa?"

Frank relaxed. This question was easy. "It had to do with my dad and his detective agency."

A perplexed frown furrowed Nancy's brow. "I don't understand."

"Dad's looking to expand the Hardy Detective Agency and I'm ready to get out on my own. I want my own agency. Dad and I have discussed it. I was … I'm thinking, what about opening a branch of the Hardy Detective Agency here."

"In River Heights?" Nancy was stunned. She had not expected this. A detective agency here? Her thoughts had been going in a more romantic direction.

"Yeah. Why not? I know some people here. After this case, I know some of the local law enforcement. And I'm acquainted with a well-known attorney and his daughter who's a well-known amateur detective. She might even consider working for me."

"Working _for_ you?" There was a note of teasing displeasure in Nancy's voice.

Frank laughed. "I meant working _with_ me. And Joe. He's excited about this opportunity. What do you think? River Heights isn't too far from Chicago. We might get the occasional big city case."

"Wow, give me a minute to take this in." Nancy cocked her head and looked at Frank from beneath dark lashes. "You're serious? This isn't a joke?"

"No, of course not. I'm going to lay all my cards on the table. It's been great seeing you again, Nan. I've enjoyed working with you. I think we make a great team. And to be honest, I have selfish motives for picking River Heights."

Nancy felt a bit light-headed. Did Frank mean what she thought he meant? "You have selfish motives?"

Frank worked his tongue around his mouth then said, "I'm wondering if there's any chance a certain titan-haired detective might consider getting to know me better."

Nancy tried to hide her grin. "How much better?"

"This much."

Frank leaned over and wrapped his good arm around Nancy's shoulders. He pressed his lips to hers. Tentative and unsure.

Nancy's arms went around his back and neck. She pressed herself against him and the kiss deepened. The kiss was everything she had hoped for. Everything she had dreamed it would be. Frank's muscles bunched and tensed beneath her fingertips. For a second the world stood still. Then she heard a soft groan and drew back. Frank's brow was knotted.

"You're in pain," Nancy said.

"The ribs." Frank slumped against the back of the sofa and squeezed his eyes shut. "The kiss was worth it though." He peeked at her with one eye. "So, do I have a chance?"

Nancy laughed and shook her head. "I'd say your chances look very good."

* * *

 _A/N: Now, I see why I rewrote so much of this story. The original was pretty cheesy and too YA for me. I prefer grittier characters and stories. Therefore, I changed N,F &J in the next story I wrote; "Meet Me at Midnight." I gave F&J a military background to explain all their knowledge of equipment and surveillance techniques. I made N a former detective of the Chicago PD._

 _But this story is the one that got me started down that path. There's one or two chapters left. I haven't decided if I'm lumping it all together or separating the very end bit. We'll see._

 _Thanks bunches for the reviews. I have several other stories I'm working on and may start posting another when this one is complete._

 _Cheers!_


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

On Monday the doctors removed the pins in Frank's arm and put on a hard cast. Frank still used the sling to relieve the weight of the cast. It covered most of his left arm and part of his hand. There were openings for his thumb and fingers. Getting dressed was now a chore. A difficult undertaking. An undertaking fraught with complications and challenges.

Tonight, two days after getting the new cast, Laura Hardy held a pair of scissors over one of Frank's best dress shirts.

"Are you sure, you want to wear _this_ shirt tonight?" she called.

"Yes, mom." Frank was in the hotel bathroom. He lifted his chin and carefully shaved. One handed. It was a lot easier said than done.

"It's one of your best shirts, Frank. I hate to ruin it. You look so handsome in it."

Frank poked his head out of the bathroom and grinned. "Why do you think I want to wear it tonight?"

"I know this dinner is special, but …"

"C'mon, mom. How often do Joe and I, and Nancy, receive medals from the police department? Dad's even flown in for this."

Laura Hardy smiled at her son. His strong jaw was half hidden in shaving cream. How had he grown up so fast? He was man now.

"Okay, Frank. If you're sure." Laura Hardy lifted the shirt sleeve and prepared to cut it.

"Just do it, mom. I can always buy another shirt."

The scissors cut through the fabric like butter. The cuff end of the shirt fell on the bed. Laura Hardy tossed the useless piece in the trash and sighed. That was that. Now, she needed to sew a hem on the raw edge.

Thirty minutes later Laura Hardy buttoned the last button on Frank's shirt. She straightened the collar and stood back to admire her oldest son. "There you go. You look very handsome."

Frank reddened slightly. "Thanks, mom."

"Your father and Joe should be here any minute. Your father can help you with your tie."

Laura Hardy gathered up stray clothes and towels. Frank checked his appearance in the mirror. Did this tie go with this shirt?

Laura Hardy watched her son as she tidied the room. He was tall and rugged. So like his father. Not only in looks, but in personality as well. Level-headed and intelligent. And if she wasn't mistaken, he might be smitten with a certain young lady.

To Frank's back, she said, "It's been an interesting week and a half. Taking care of my grown child and helping him dress himself."

She hung the towels in the bathroom and made sure her voice was loud enough to carry, "Mind you, I don't want to make a habit of caring for you."

She heard Frank laugh. "Trust me mom, I don't want to make it a habit either."

# # # #

The banquet hall was crowded when Nancy, Hannah, and Carson Drew arrived. Nancy wore a simple, but elegant sheath dress. She and the Hardys were being honored tonight. Along with Detectives Rivera and Hagan.

Nancy felt at cross purposes. It was odd getting an award for catching her mother's killer. Out of all the cases she'd solved, this one had been the most difficult. It had touched her personally and emotionally. Nancy wasn't sure she had fully come to terms with how she felt. The healing had begun, but it was not complete.

Nancy thought of her mother as she surveyed the festive room. Glowing candles and sparkling chandeliers. A sea of smiling people dressed in evening clothes. Some lifted long stemmed glasses in a toast. Everyone was happy. A killer had been caught and now the people celebrated. Lives had been lost, but think of all those that had been saved.

Hannah rubbed Nancy's arm. "You okay, dear?"

"Yes." Nancy blinked away the dampness in her eyes.

"You seemed rather far away there for a moment."

"I was." Nancy leaned against Hannah. "I was thinking about _why_ we're here."

"Ahh, yes." Hannah took Nancy's hand in hers and held it tight.

Carson Drew stepped up to the women. "How we doing, ladies?"

Hannah spoke for both women, "Contemplating the _why_ we're here."

Carson Drew saw the sorrow in his daughter's eyes and said, "For closure. After twenty years, I can finally sleep at night. The nightmare, I've endured, has finally come to an end. And I owe that to my wonderful daughter."

"Oh, dad." Nancy brushed the corners of her eyes.

"No," Mr. Drew warned, "no tears tonight. We're here to honor you and everyone involved in the case. Your mother would want that. She and I are very proud of you." He kissed the top of Nancy's head.

Nancy smiled up at her father. "Thanks, I needed that."

"Oh, look." Hannah pointed. "The Hardys are here."

Carson Drew adjusted his tie and jacket. "I'd say it's time we joined them. Ready, ladies?"

He held out his elbows. Nancy and Hannah each took one and the three walked over to greet the Hardy family.

# # # #

Nancy sat between Frank and Joe. The brothers were soon teasing each other. It was a welcome diversion for Nancy. The brothers' playful teasing of one another soon brought her out of her sadness.

The dinners arrived and as Nancy spread the cloth napkin across her lap, Frank leaned over and whispered, "You look beautiful."

She blushed shamelessly. "Thanks, Hardy. You look pretty darn good yourself."

And he did. The dark tones of his shirt highlighted the richness of his mocha colored hair and eyes.

After dinner, the mayor took to the stage and gave a short speech. He detailed the Ray Gordon case and the heroic efforts of the police department and three private investigators. The mayor thanked everyone involved for bringing a serial killer to justice. Finally, he presented the honorees with Meritorious Service Awards. First Detectives Rivera and Hagan. And then Nancy, Frank, and Joe.

The evening officially came to an end. Laura Hardy insisted on some pictures. This was a momentous occasion. It must be captured on cell phones. It took poses to find just the right one befitting all three detectives. Laura Hardy even managed to corral Rivera and Hagan. She proudly snapped a group shot of the five detectives.

Finally, Joe sighed, "Mom, you've taken enough pictures for one night."

Laura Hardy laughed and patted her son on the shoulder. "You're probably right. The camera is going into the purse now." She dropped it into her handbag.

Nancy suddenly found herself hugging the Hardy family and saying good-bye. They had an early morning flight. They were tired and needed to finish packing.

Then Frank pulled her aside. He turned to his family. "Mom, Dad, I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Laura and Fenton Hardy exchanged knowing looks.

Frank waited until his family, and Carson Drew and Hannah had all left.

At last, he was alone with Nancy. Only the service staff remained, clearing tables.

"I meant what I said the other night," Frank said and took Nancy's hand in his, "about the detective agency. I'll be back soon to look for places to set up shop."

"I can start looking tomorrow." What else did she have to do?

"That would be great." Frank looked down at their hands. Folded together. A natural fit.

"Nancy, I .. I wanted to say one more thing."

Nancy took a shallow breath and waited.

Frank lifted his head and his eyes locked on hers. His gaze was intense and penetrating. It conveyed his feelings. He wanted to know her … completely.

A tingle slid across Nancy's shoulders.

"Nan, you said you'd give me a chance."

Nancy felt her heart flutter. "I did. I do." She was in a twitter. Her thoughts a bit muddled.

He put his good arm around her waist and leaned in for a kiss. She rose on her toes and met his lips. The kiss was long and tender and sweet. It spoke of yearning and desire.

Where would this relationship go? Only the future knew.

# # # #

Nancy knelt beside her mother's grave and placed a bundle of flowers on the shimmering grass. It was a bright, sunny day.

"I miss you, mom. My heart aches. My arms long to hug you."

Nancy hadn't been to her mother's grave since the day she'd passed out. The day Frank had carried her to the rental car.

There were many things Nancy wanted to say. Many things she wanted to tell her mother. But where to begin?

She thought for moment and decided.

"Ray's in prison. He'll never get out. He'll never hurt anyone again."

Nancy brushed a tear from her cheek. "I can't imagine what you went through, mom. It .. it must have been awful."

Nancy folded her legs under her. The day was a warm. Thin wispy clouds drifted across the sky. Nancy looked around. She was alone in the cemetery. She ran her hand over the plump grass and enjoyed the gentle breeze. The cemetery was peaceful and calm. A good place to mediate.

A smile danced upon Nancy's lips as a new thought came to her. "I do have some happy news." Her eyes swept across the cemetery, across the board fields of grass and over the headstones.

"I've met someone special." She pulled at a blade of grass.

"He's a lot like dad. He has dark hair. And dark eyes. He's tall."

Happy memories of Frank crowded her mind. The few kisses they'd shared. The way he'd looked at her. The way his smile made her feel.

"To be honest, I met him five years ago. But I never imagined he would be a part of my life."

She took a deep breath and savored the crisp air then released it slowly. For the first time in many days, she felt content.

"In a way, mom, I think you led me to Frank. Or … maybe you led Frank to me.

"Fate has a funny way of working out doesn't it?"

THE END

* * *

 _A/N: And so the story comes to an end. As I said in the previous chapter I decided to change N,J &F's background stories so there is no 'next' story in this universe. I do have other stories I'm working on and one of them may soon be posted here._

 _A final thank you to all the wonderful people who left reviews. I appreciate them more than I can say. ;)_

 _Thank you anonymous reviewers. I don't know if it was one person or more. LOL_

 _A special thank you to ILoveMom and Lexi for their reviews. And a big thank you to everyone else who dropped in and left a review. They are all appreciated. :)_


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